Dating Experiences of a Woman in Hollywood

I HAVE MOVED DATING EXPERIENCES... to "DatingExperiencesInHollywood.com"

2010-07-23T07:12:00.000-07:00

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"Your Hair is Like Cotton Candy"

2010-07-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

Liz's friend Brian had an extra ticket to a rock concert at the Hollywood Bowl last night and invited me to join. I crammed into the Saab SUV with five other people, including the very nice driver, Scooter, who looked like an 80s rock star groupie- or as Liz described him, like "David Lee Roth's less successful brother." We drove the short distance to the Bowl and valet parked.

Brian took care of the tickets and his friend Kurt organized buying the booze. "Who's Kurt?" I asked Liz. "Totally single," she replied, "and he knows you are too". I examined him more closely just as he was jumping up and down and said "I have to go pee".

Upon his return, I followed Kurt to the Market. "I've got this place wired," he said, as we walked into the "Exit" of the wine store. "Excuse me sir," said the male attendant, "you can't enter this way, you have to go through the entrance like everyone else."Kurt smiled, "Oh, I'm with my friends who are already in there," he said, pushing through, waving to a strange woman inside.

He grabbed two bottles of chardonnay, a bottle of red and a beer. "You should probably go get our place in line," he said. I foolishly looked for the end of the line, already knowing Kurt would finagle his way to the front. He found two cute girls near the register and offered to pay for one of their beers in return for cutting in line ahead of them. "For $6.50, I saved 30 minutes," he said.

Watching the male attendants reduce a bottle of Cabernet to a Venti-sized clear plastic cup with a lid and straw, revealed just how easy it is to drink an entire bottle of wine. With a full supply of liquor organized for the evening, Kurt wrapped his hand around my waist and led me through the crowd.

We found our seats and Brian was immediately apologetic about the tickets he purchased. He pointed out an area right in front of the stage where he sat at the last concert and apologized profusely for not having tickets that were closer. Here we are at a rock concert at the Hollywood Bowl on a beautiful summer night in good seats with fun people, great music and good wine. I could not have been happier.

I sat next to Kurt. He's in his early 40s, fit, has a full head of salt and pepper hair and is a little ball of energy. He was wearing jeans and a white cotton dress shirt with his initials embroidered on the left hand side. "Everyone gets their initials on the pocket," he said, "I'm the only one who gets them here," pointing to their strategic positioning, just below his ribs.

He reminded me of someone, but I couldn't quite place my finger on who it was. "People tell me all the time that I look like John McEnroe," offered Kurt, "and I know John, but I'm better looking."

Kurt grew up in New York's upper east side and currently lives in Santa Monica. I thought Kurt worked in the entertainment industry specifically because of his crisp energy, resourceful bartering skills to get ahead, and intermittent petulant behavior. However, Kurt more fittingly heads up his own toy company. "I observe what everyone is doing individually and then put certain people together to create winners, and let the losers fall out," he said, "That's just the way it is."

During the show, we traded seats back and forth, and at one point, everyone had left for the restrooms, except for me and Brian. He leaned over and casually mentioned, "You've probably noticed how small Kurt's hands are, right?" I like strong hands on a man. I always have. I like hands that look like they know what they're doing, and can hold me, or protect me if required. Hands and the nape of the neck are body parts I take particular interest in when I meet a guy.

Kurt is about my height, perhaps an inch taller. I noticed his hands were small, but in proportion to his size. "He's had some really beautiful girlfriends," said Brian, "and they've all told me he's small, but that he knows how to use it." About an hour had passed since I met Kurt, and Brian is already confiding in me about Kurt's sexual prowess. I wondered if he read my mind, or was reassuring me just in case I had any interest in sleeping with Kurt, and knew I had assumed he had a small dick.

Kurt returned shortly thereafter and sat next to me. "Your hair's like cotton candy," said Kurt. It was a rather humid summer night. On nights like this one, my curly hair sucks up the moisture in the air and can become quite... voluminous. "I really want to touch it," he said, "but I'm afraid I'll lose my hand." I laughed out loud as he glided his hand up my neck and under my hair, grabbed a section and tugged.

Halfway through the show, I noticed half the cup of red wine was gone and I think I was the only one drinking red. Kurt leaned over and kissed me. He was a good kisser and I suddenly realized how long it had been since I had actually been kissed. Keith (What's the Catch?) popped into my mind. I have yet to go out with Keith, yet I imagined what it would be like to kiss him. Kurt leaned over and kissed me again.

Once the concert was over, Scooter pulled the car around and we all piled in for the short ride to Teddy's at The Roosevelt Hotel. I haven't frequented trendy Hollywood clubs in quite some time and since Brian knew the doorman, he released the velvet rope upon our arrival and guided us to a table, complete with multiple bottles of booze and mixers. Kurt poured me a vodka cranberry.

As I headed to the restroom, I surveyed the crowd and thought back to when I first arrived in Hollywood many years ago. Not much has changed... Inside the restroom, girls complained about the guys they were with and strategized how to bag the B list actor at the corner table. Other girls fixed their makeup, teased their hair and adjusted their barely-there dresses to reveal just the right amount of their breasts and legs before walking back into the club. I had a déjà vu moment, remembering how insecure I felt back then, just like some of these girls do now, not realizing how beautiful and unique they all are.

Back at the table, Kurt poured me another drink as Brian maneuvered for a better table up front, next to the supermodels, from the host who sat down two young girls next to us, offering them drinks. The girls chatted for a bit before disappearing into the bowels of the club.

I was feeling the alcohol and knew I would hate myself in the morning. But here I was reliving a moment from my 20s and enjoying every minute of it. Kurt scooted in closer and kissed me again. I couldn't believe I was making out with some guy in a club... just like the old days... hoping, praying no one noticed.

What's The Catch?

2010-07-05T11:57:00.000-07:00

I went on a couple of dates with Mike. He was cute and fun, but not ideal boyfriend material, so we ended up becoming friends. One night before we went to dinner, he showed me a picture of his younger brother Keith, who has dark, wavy hair, strong features, muscular arms, and lines in his cheeks from his natural smile. "Everyone says he looks like a Brazilian soccer player," said Mike.

A second photo showed Keith with his shirt off. He clearly worked out at the gym regularly. "You would like him. You should go out with him." I downplayed my interest, "Ok, if you think so."

The first time I heard Keith's voice on the phone, I could not tell the difference between his voice and Mike's. At first, I thought Mike was playing a joke on me, but thirty seconds into our conversation, I understood exactly how different these two brothers are.

Keith is a deep and soulful guy. He wears his heart on his sleeve, is present and wonderfully open and honest. Our conversations travel to many destinations. I understand his thought patterns, which are clear, connected and similar to mine. No subject is taboo. He makes no pretense about his life, who he is or where he's been. So, what's the catch?

He was addicted to drugs for half his life and has been sober for just the past two years. If I have any interest in dating Keith, I know what my friends will say, "Really? After all the time you've been looking for a solid relationship, you're really considering dating a former drug addict? Are you nuts?"

I attended twelve years of Catholic school. The old nuns, dressed in their habits, constantly drilled into our skulls "sex and drugs are bad for you and are the devil's way into your soul." However, the older we got, and the more our hormones raged, we of course had to discover why everyone is going to hell for having sex and doing drugs.

The first time I smoked pot was after school my junior year in high school. I was with Mary and Maggie, driving around in Maggie's parent's car, an old silver Ford Granada that we nicknamed, "The Grenade". One of Maggie's older (and really cute) brothers gave us a skinny, little joint. We smoked it, and went to visit him and his friends at the local University. We thought we were really cool and giggled all afternoon long, until we got paranoid, thinking someone may have seen us smoking pot in our school uniforms and report us to the principal.

We drove back to Molly's house with the windows down in freezing cold weather to rid the car of any residual smell. With 10 kids in her family, Maggie's parents were savvy to drug use and none of us wanted to get grounded or expelled.

When I was 21, I moved from my provincial, mid-western hometown to New York City, where drugs were readily available. I tried most recreational drugs. I didn't like coke. I didn't like feeling edgy and wired and I never understood its appeal. However, in order to avoid any pressure from my peers, I rubbed it on my gums, which increased my appetite for cigarettes all night long. My hair soaked up the smoke like a sponge and stunk so bad that I had to pull my curls into a bun on my head just so I could fall asleep. The next morning I inevitably looked and felt like crap. My teeth were fuzzy and I reeked of smoke.

Cocaine was Keith's drug of choice. "What's the difference between drug addicts and people who do drugs but don't become addicted?" I asked Keith. "Genetic predisposition," was his response. "But that is not an excuse," he continued. "There are no excuses." Is it really genetics? Some people must have the genes but don't become addicts for 17 years. "I had a problem and I had no choice other than to become strong enough to deal with it," he said. "It's been a very un-shallowing and humbling experience every step of the way."

Clearly Keith's drug story is much more intense than my G-rated initiation. "Addiction is the devil controlling you when you have no faith in anything else," he said. "As soon as I developed an ounce of faith in my higher power and in myself, I started the fight to get my life back." Maybe those old, mean, sexually frustrated nuns actually knew a thing or two.

I've never been married, have no kids, no skeletons in the closet, and not so much as an outstanding parking ticket. I have designed my life to be as drama free as possible. Should I even toy with the idea of dating Keith, knowing his history and the imminent reactions from my family and friends? "You will face that type of ridicule," he says, "which is what I hate about all this. I want to protect you from it, but I can’t."

At this stage in my life, is it possible to meet a man who doesn't have some type of baggage? We all have different challenges and issues-- some of us confront our issues, learn and grow from them-- and others don't. With Keith, I know what his baggage is upfront. With any other man, I could spend years only to discover his 'demon' is something worse.

I flipped open a copy of the new Vanity Fair today and saw a picture of Cary Grant running on the beach. His quote read, "All my life, I've been going around in a fog. You're just a bunch of molecules until you know who you are." -- Hollywood's Glory Daze, LSD aficionado Cary Grant, circa 1952.

I have always stated I want to be with a man who is honest, knows who he is and is comfortable in his own skin. However, I never thought a sordid, drug-filled past could be a potential tool, and part of the package of a man I might develop a relationship with.

"I don't struggle with drugs anymore," said Keith, who has devoted his life to helping others stay sober and educating people about addiction. "My soul wants continued peace and my heart wants to be content and happy."

Isn't that what we all want?

Way Better Than Any Drug...

2010-07-01T17:57:00.000-07:00

"I am in love with the idea of love. It's the greatest when it's the real deal. Way better than any drug or amount of money."

How could I not fall in love with Kevin, the guy who sent me this text? My phone bleeped again, "People say that's stupid of me to think that, but it's probably because they've never had it."

I have never experienced real, unconditional love with a romantic partner. I have never known what it's like for a man to 'have my back' as Sandra Bullock unfortunately described on Oscar night, before discovering her husband’s infidelity. I thought back to my early relationships in Los Angeles and wondered if my idea of what love is, has changed over the years…

I flew to L.A. from New York when I was 26 to visit my dad for the weekend and never went back. Having the beach close by, a home larger than the walk-in closet I called my apartment, a car and sunny weather every day, I was hard pressed to return to the island of Manhattan. Plus, I was dating an actor, Tim, who was well known from a hit TV show. He was shooting a movie in L.A. and had recently told me, " I love you. Maybe you should start thinking about us getting married."

Tim was also a singer and I was 'the girl' in one of the music videos he produced in Tennessee, five months prior to my move to L.A. In one of the shots, I'm reading a letter while walking down a gravel driveway. I then place the letter on my heart and smile. The director said to me, "Really read the letter next time.” So I did. “While I was on the road, I got a girl pregnant and I’m gonna have to marry her,” the letter said. I burst out laughing and then the crew joined in and laughed too.

After a long, romantic Valentine's Day weekend in Malibu, Tim called me crying, saying he got some girl pregnant, while touring with his band and married her so she wouldn’t be ostracized from her small Christian community, for giving birth to a bastard child. She was six months pregnant and they had been married for three months before he finally spilled his guts over the phone.

A “friend” I met in L.A. was quick to offer me cash to sell my story to the Enquirer. I was humiliated enough and didn't see the point in splattering myself, or anyone else across the pages of a tabloid magazine for any sum of money. My dad’s second wife said, "You should see him one last time, fuck him and then never call him again.” I couldn't think of a worse idea. "Yeah, that will really show him," I said.

Distraught and not knowing anyone in Los Angeles, I contacted Scott, a former boyfriend from New York, who had moved to L.A two years prior. He was a writer, who hadn't really written anything, and an alcoholic. If there was anyone I could count on getting drunk with, it was Scott.

Scott had a knack for finding crappy apartments in questionable neighborhoods, and nothing had changed, as I pulled up to his apartment building and parked out front.

After a bottle of wine and a good cry, I was too tipsy to drive home. I fell asleep on Scott's couch, but not before he tried to take advantage of my drunken stupor. Angry at being rejected, he spoke harsh words before retreating to his bedroom.

As soon as the bright sun shined through the curtainless window, I got up and left. I stood in front of Scott's building, trying to locate my car. I was sure I had parked right in front of his building, but now there was just a pile of broken glass and my “Club" lying in the middle of the street. Shit. My car was gone and Scott had to drive me back to Manhattan Beach.

Days passed… My rental car was broken into and then the used car I bought broke down. The mechanic told me the odometer had been rolled back about 70,000 miles. “My girlfriend has this same car with 50,000 miles and her engine is in much better shape than yours.” Really? That sweet couple with the baby who sold me the car rolled the odometer back? I was rethinking my move to L.A., where the streets had been much tougher than anything I had experienced living in New York.

A week later, I was invited to a filmmaker’s party, where I met Patrick, the CEO of a large, successful television company. He was intrigued by my pathetic story. "How are you dealing with all of this?” he asked, “Are you seeing a therapist?” I wasn’t seeing anyone, just calling friends in New York who would lend an ear. "Had you left anything in your car?" he asked. "Just a watch Tim gave me," I replied, “but frankly, I’m glad it’s gone.” Patrick took pity on me and asked if he could take me out to dinner the following night. I happily accepted.

Since I was staying in Manhattan Beach, Scott offered to let my date pick me up at his apartment. Patrick called as soon as he pulled up outside so Scott looked out the window and saw his brand new convertible Mercedes. "You better be careful,” Scott said. “He’s probably a Hollywood asshole. Don't let him take advantage of you,” he continued. I left quickly. Patrick was the nicest guy I had met in L.A. since I moved here.

As soon as we sat down to dinner, Patrick handed me a box containing a very expensive watch. I was completely taken aback and said that I could not accept it. Patrick explained that he felt bad for all the things that happened to me during the past three months, so he wanted to do something nice. He brushed off the cost of the watch, saying it wasn't a big deal and to just please accept it. And, at the end of the date, he was a perfect gentleman.

A couple of weeks later the Los Angeles riots broke out. Scott called, "I totaled my car so you have to take me to the grocery store so I can get some food and water. You owe me a ride." I begrudgingly picked him up. As soon as he saw my new watch, he slurred his words, "Don't fall into this L.A. trap. Don’t become a Hollywood whore! Don't let them use you up and discard you! I only say this because I love you and care about you."

I dated Patrick for a few months, before realizing how badly he wanted children. He was in his 40s and his clock was ticking. I barely had time to land in L.A. before realizing he was trying to rescue me and potentially make me the mother of his children. He was a sweet, generous man who desperately wanted a family. I barely knew myself, or what I wanted, so I certainly couldn’t jump into someone else’s ready-made life in order to discover myself.

But what I do know is that everyone has a different idea of love and what love means to them. And, my idea of love has certainly changed over the years, and is not so different from what Kevin texted me. Yet, here I am in Los Angeles, looking forward to texts from Kevin, who lives in another city and who I have never met.

Horror in the Hills

2010-06-23T08:32:00.000-07:00

Kenneth contacted me on Facebook, "Is it really that hard to date in L.A.?" he asked. Whenever I travel to other states or abroad, I meet men fairly easily. However, Los Angeles and New York are tough cities to date and I have lived in either Los Angeles or New York for the past 25 years. "How about if you bring a friend and I'll bring a friend and let's meet."

Kenneth and I emailed back and forth for about a month before he we settled on a day and he invited me over to his place for a blind, double date. I asked Liz, who recently moved here from Chicago, to come with me. Kenneth is a film producer and his last movie was a big budgeted studio production, starring two of my least favorite actors.

Liz texted me shortly before I left for Kenneth's house. "Are we still on? Wish it was out and not at his house," she wrote. I disagreed. It's infinitely more interesting meeting someone at their home. I learn much more about who they are and how they live. Plus, I've seen enough of the insides of bars and restaurants from all the dates I have been on lately, that it's nice to be able to relax at someone's house and get to know them in their own environment.

I drove up the long, winding road to Kenneth's house, which is situated on a hill facing downtown Los Angeles. With few places to park, Kenneth and his friend, Mark, took the two available street spots, so that Liz and I could park in his driveway. "How unusual," I thought, "this guy is really considerate".

Kenneth greeted me at the door, taking the bag of ice I picked up on my way. I walked into his tastefully decorated home and saw the breathtaking view of Los Angeles. He gave me the tour of this updated 1950s style 2-story home, starting with the view up top and ending in the downstairs living area, complete with an indoor circular stone fireplace, bar with nicely laid out snacks, large screen TV and a deck that runs the length of the room. Within ten minutes of arrival, we were having cocktails, overlooking Los Angeles at sunset, as a red-tailed hawk circled in the air before landing in a tree a few hundred feet away. I love L.A.

Kenneth and I discovered we are both from the same hometown in the Midwest, although he grew up further out in a farming area. Neither one of us visit much, however we are both still in contact with a few childhood friends. "Some of my old friends are racists," he said. "I said to one of my guy friends, "Dude, you can't keep saying shit like that. It wasn't fine to say years ago and how can you even think that shit now. I can't want to be friends with you anymore if that's the way you think."

We grew up in a racist environment. When I was 20, I dated a guy who had a white mother and a black father. Checkers at the grocery store stared at us with disdain. A couple of waitresses would not serve us. My own mother did not want me to invite him to her home for Thanksgiving that year and my father said, "I don't think it's a good idea for the two of you to keep dating. The thought of you together makes some people feel uncomfortable." However, once my mother actually met David, she was relieved. "Oh, he's so handsome. I was picturing a gold tooth and a Jeri curl." And, ironically, my father's third wife happens to be African-American. Our lives in Los Angeles could not be more different from our lives growing up. Kenneth exclaimed, "Some of them live such boring lives and I live in Hollywood and produce movies."

"Why do you go out with the guys you go out with?" Kenneth asked me. Kenneth has had three girlfriends in the last two years. He can take his pick of the women lining up to meet a studio movie producer who walks red carpets. A single woman in her mid-40s, producing independent film does not garner the same kind of glitz and attention. I have been pursued by a couple of young handsome actors, who just haven't quite figured out that indie film is not a big money ticket, especially now. Guys my age (and older) in Hollywood, are dating girls in their 20s and 30s because they can. I had lunch with a publicist who was talking about a 60 year-old producer we both know, who is getting divorced. "Oh please, there will be a line around the block of young girls wanting to date this guy because he's got so much money."

When I started dating again, I was really gung ho about the prospect of meeting interesting men. However, as the dates racked up and no significant relationship developed, I became weary. "You will marry as soon as you want to marry," Kenneth decided. "You just don't want to be married right now. I mean, come on, why go out on date number two with the 'orgasm guy'?" I went out with 'orgasm guy' a second time because he was completely unique and so far out there with his ideals and beliefs, that the date was an interesting ride-- and a completely different experience from the men I meet, who are typically bored and looking for someone else to make their own lives more interesting.

The men who described themselves in their profiles are usually wildly different from the men I meet in person. "I just took a class," said Kenneth, "It's all about discovering how you perceive yourself and how others perceive you." This class should be offered to everyone living on this planet. "How do people perceive you?" I asked. "People see me as an asshole. But if I'm 100% asshole, I'm trying to discover how I can be 25% less of an asshole." Kenneth turned to Liz, "You'd be a much better actress if you took the class."

I can understand why people think Kenneth is an asshole. He's smart, opinionated and speaks his observations freely. Many people aren't comfortable enough with themselves to hear criticism without thinking the person who is giving it to them, an asshole.

Kenneth is a lean, wiry and smart guy. His mind is constantly churning with thoughts, ideas and opinions, while at the same time observing, recognizing and scrutinizing the details of everyone else's body language and reactions to his words. He constantly pushes the boundaries of conversation to see how far he can go before you're uncomfortable, and how quickly (or not) his audience will follow. I suspect this a regular exercise for Kenneth, especially on dates, testing to see if the woman is interested, oblivious to this exercise, potentially his equal, or retreating in horror.

"Does anyone know you are here?" Kenneth asked. The four of us sat outside on the deck as he began to spin an idea for a movie that involved a girl meeting someone for a date. Words like, "bludgeoned," "tortured" and "tied up" were spoken. Liz's body language tightened up, which Kenneth quickly noted, as he headed down a dark path.

I glanced over at Liz periodically, checking in to see if she was comfortable with the new turn the evening was taking. Her tightly crossed arms and legs suggested she was in protective mode, a stance not lost on Kenneth. However, she never returned my gaze, so I assumed she was fine and not secretly devising her escape.

Kenneth dabbled back and forth, occasionally going a bit too far until, at one point, Mark stopped him. "Don't continue with this part because you're just going to reveal a fantasy that's never been played out for you, and you just met these girls. Kenneth paused before he remarked, "But wait, I'm in the black hole where it's infinitely more interesting and fun than the level playing field. Really? You want me to stop now and come back up here?" he said, while reaching over and fixing my lapel. He checked in with his audience to see if we were still captive, or politely thinking of an excuse to leave. "Is this too far out for you?" he asked. "Are you rethinking your choice of plans for this evening? I would totally understand if you wanted to leave."

Kenneth had walked so far out on the plank and dove in, completely focused on his film idea, until Mark stopped him, making him surprisingly aware that he was exposed and being observed. But we were with him the entire way, even as he described the terrifying and deadly ending to his serial killer story.

I thought about Dennis Bulloch, who is also from our hometown. He murdered a woman he met online by binding her to a chair in her garage with a hundred feet of electrical tape, shoving a rag down her throat and lighting her on fire. He is a free man because his attorney came up with the "she made me do it" defense, which set precedence for the Preppy Murder Trial and for other men who killed women who couldn't testify since they were dead.

Ideas of who I would cast, the director and cinematographer I would want, as well as the potential budget for Kenneth's movie danced in my head. Then I went into the kitchen with Kenneth who opened his cabinets and showed me his rather extensive spice collection, as he prepares to become a master chef. Sunday evening was thoroughly enjoyable with Liz and two guys who were total strangers a few hours prior.

"You Need to Love Yourself More"

2010-06-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

I met a girl at a party in L.A, who is considered a psychic, so I asked her if she saw a meaningful relationship in my life anytime soon. "What is your relationship like with yourself ?" she asked. Well, there are times I feel like shit, there are times I feel like I'm on top of the world and there are times that I feel every emotion in between.

I like myself. I strive to be a good person. Sure, I have fears, insecurities and numerous challenges like everybody else, but typically, on sunny mornings, I wake up and feel pretty good. "You need to love yourself in order for a man to love you," she told me. Really? Does everyone have a such a great relationship with himself and feel so positively ecstatic right before they meet that special someone?

"Kayla" was married for 12 years before her husband decided to leave her and their four kids for the blonde, red Corvette-driving bartender who worked at the family restaurant 2 miles from their home. A year after the divorce, Kayla was struggling, trying to pay the bills with the paltry child support check her husband sent late each month. She was severely depressed and spent many nights crying on the phone with her friends, drinking bottles of 'two buck Chuck,' once the kids were in bed. She was at rock bottom when she met Walter, an attorney, in the produce section. He fell in love with her. They dated for six months before he proposed. Kayla and the kids are much happier now than they have ever been.

I thought about my mental state each time I met my significant relationships. Tim introduced himself at jury duty, during a major turning point in my life. A big job had ended and I was nervous, but excited, about embarking upon a freelance career. Tim also worked for himself and, after two months of dating, he was talking marriage, until I offered some insight into an issue he divulged, that his therapist of 9 years hadn't quite figured out in their weekly sessions. He was excited about my discovery, however, the therapist was nervous I wasn't the right woman for him. Her advice to him, after her meal ticket's next session, was that we should take a break from dating. So we did.

I met Alejandro right after Tim, when I was wholeheartedly involved in a passion project. We ended up sharing two and a half passionate (and dramatic) years together before I broke it off, upon discovering his infidelity.

One week after my traumatic breakup with Alejandro, I met Eddie. If feeling low about yourself attracts the wrong breed, then I have to admit that's what happened with Eddie, a deluded man who preached integrity and honesty, but preyed upon my generosity.

So, upon reflection, my emotional states were pretty similar to the type of relationships I experienced. So, maybe if I do love and appreciate myself more, I will attract a loving man. Besides, how hard can it be to love myself like how I want to be loved, right?

I spent a wonderfully amazing weekend in Denver with good friends and was feeling a lot of love when I boarded the small commuter jet back to Los Angeles. I took my window seat in the middle of the plane, next to a man with a full head of dark, thick hair, slicked back with pomade and a full black beard, peppered with grey. His eyes were green, his nose wide and he spoke with a thick Middle-Eastern accent. He reeked of cigarette smoke.

"I'm sorry if I smell," he said, "I smoked too many cigarettes all day today." Oof. I was sitting next to a chimney for the next two hours on a sold out flight, so there was no chance of changing seats. I laid my head against the window, closed my eyes, and tried to fall asleep.

Halfway through the flight, I reclined my chair and laid my head back, thinking about the week ahead. A few moments passed before the man next to me repositioned himself, so that he was laying on his left side, facing me. His feet were curled up on the seat and his face rested on his hands under his cheek. The close proximity of his face to mine was uncomfortably intimate for a complete stranger laying next to me on a small plane.

He opened his eyes and exhaled through his nose and mouth. His rank breath blew on my face. "Are you on TV?" he calmly asked, waking up from his nap. "No." I replied, raising my seat, so we were no longer laying next to one another. "Well then, you look like someone on TV. Or, there is someone on TV who looks like you." He scooted up in his seat and I could feel his eyes examine me.

"You have a beautiful face and a beautiful body," he said. I'm trapped in a seat on a packed commuter plane with nowhere to run and the stinky guy laying way too close to me is now saying inappropriate things. "Thank you," I answered. "That's very kind of you." I said, turning to my left side to avoid him. "Are you married?" he continued. "No, but I have a boyfriend," I stated and closed my eyes. "We could have fun," he offered. I checked the time on my cellphone. Forty-three more minutes before we land.

But we didn't land. The plane circled around Burbank airport and then diverted to LAX. The pilot came on the loud speaker and said they were having a "flap problem". Since there are no mechanics at Burbank, we were being diverted to LAX. As we approached the runway, a dozen ambulances, fire trucks and emergency vehicles awaited us with flashing lights. Wait a second! The pilot sounded so calm... are we going to crash upon landing? Am I going to die alone, sharing this moment with a stinky, creepy man? If I loved myself more, would I be seated next to the handsome, single guy two rows up from me?

Fortunately, the plane landed without incident. However, my first attempt of loving myself more did not attract the right guy. I assume my love for myself must travel much deeper and love all the insecurities, flaws and self-worth issues I've grappled with since I was a child.

"Too bad our fathers didn't raise us like Gwyneth Paltrow's did," offered a girlfriend.

We All Have Secrets

2010-06-03T23:57:00.000-07:00

My parents divorced when I was 10. I remember the day my dad left. My sister and I sat on the end of the bed, hugging our crying mom, who had finally mustered up the courage to tell her unfaithful husband to leave. We didn't look up, and he didn't say goodbye, as his legs walked past the bedroom door, suitcase in hand.

Shortly thereafter, my grandfather bought my mom a new car. The more days that passed, the more life was slowly getting back to normal. The gossiping moms at our school had grown tired of pointing us out as the kids from the divorced family, and summer had finally arrived.

However, at this same time, my beloved grandfather's health began to fail and within a few months he died. A week after the funeral, his wife Mary, 35 years his junior and our step-grandmother, arrived at our house with the sheriff and a tow truck. She had secretly declared my grandfather incompetent and became power of attorney for his estate. Our car and home were now technically her property. After 17 years of marriage, the former ticket taker at my grandfather's movie theatre, showed her true colors and came to collect.

For better or worse, these childhood experiences may in part, explain why I have yet to walk down the aisle. Infidelity and betrayal were two ugly words I learned early in life. At the very same moment I threw my mom's car keys at Mary, I declared my independence, promising myself I would never count on anyone else for my own well-being.

I had not seen "John" since we broke up 12 years ago, even though we live in the same city. I was in the Borders Bookstore at the corner of Sunset and Vine and had just purchased "PostSecret," a book by Frank Warren, based on his website (postsecret.com) where people send in their secrets written with just a few words on a post card, covering a wide range of emotions including, fear, regret, betrayal, desire, and humiliation. "Free your secrets and become who you are," he says.

As I was leaving the store, John shouted my name. I turned and there he was, my first boyfriend in L.A. who I met 18 years ago. We had been together for 4-1/2 years (the last two, off and on) and had not seen each other or had spoken to each other in over a dozen years. I am friendly with the majority of my ex-boyfriends, however, in this particular case, John had lied about his infidelity, so our break-up was traumatic. He trolled bars and picked up women when I was out of town working on movies. So, my friends called him "Troll" and we had become so accustomed to calling him Troll, that when I turned to say hello, I had to remind myself what his real name was.

The time that passed showed on his face. He is now married, has two kids and is living in the same house he lived in when I first met him. He is tall and still thin and his longish brown hair, has turned completely white. I thought about our relationship and realized I never felt safe, secure or protected with him, much like my childhood. He always seemed to have a secret that he didn't want to let me in on. I thought I was in love with him, during the same time he was secretly getting other girl's phone numbers.

Many post cards about relationships have been sent into PostSecret. One card had a photo of a heavy-set woman wearing a wedding dress, standing next to her groom, with their faces scratched out. "I know he doesn't love me anymore" read her card. Another had a painting of a large red heart. It said, "I fear that I am going to be alone for the rest of my life and I don't want to settle in order not to be". I understood this card. I have many wonderful male friends in my life, many of whom are married or in relationships, so I often wonder when I'm going to meet a wonderful man who builds a relationship with me.

"If I had a million dollars, I would give it all away for one more day with her like it used to be in the beginning" was another secret sent in. What happens in relationships that we go from being so in love and fascinated with someone, to our relationships turning sour? Once the walls start building up, is there any way to take them back down and start fresh. Growing up in my family, the tactic we learned was to search and destroy until nothing is left. So, I have spent my entire adult life building trust and support in my friendships and relationships.

We all have secrets and I have a few of my own... I have never been afraid of commitment, just committing to the wrong man. So, will I be 90 years old, living in a nursing home and finally meet my ideal man when he gets wheeled in next to me? Since I wasn't raised in a loving, supportive environment, I often wonder if I might not recognize real love and miss being with a great man. I'm worried I'll spend years finding out I'm with the wrong guy... again.

So when Memorial Day weekend rolled around and I had 4 blissful days to do whatever I wanted. I cancelled my online dating subscriptions and embraced the fact that I had no dates and looked at the weekend as an opportunity to meet men in the flesh at the various parties, happy hours, lunches and dinners I shared with friends, who graciously participate in my adventure. Did I meet anyone? Yes, I met lots of interesting people, however none of whom were straight and single, but all of whom I am sure have wonderful secrets.

Someone For Everyone

2010-05-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

"Do you remember Lisa?" my brother asked. I knew she was related to us by marriage and lived somewhere in the midwest. I met her a couple of times and recalled her being an attractive woman with long, dark hair and big brown eyes. I also recalled she had a really quirky grooming habit. "Isn't she the one with the moustache she bleaches white?"

When you meet Lisa, you can't help but notice her long, bleached lip hairs. When she speaks, her breath moves the hairs up and down on her lip like vertical blinds blowing in the wind. It's so distracting that I have often wondered why no one ever mentions it to her, or why her family or friends have never suggested other options. Her hairy lip is the first thing you notice in the family photos. "She's divorcing her husband and marrying another guy," he said.

I need to get out more.

I've been working long hours on a production and have grown accustomed to the convenience of online dating sites. With emails popping into my inbox daily, I can easily arrange dates from my cell phone, in between calls, or during lulls in long meetings. However, I knew I was running out of quality options when I returned an email from "Beverly Hills Guy" who has been contacting me for months, posting pictures with his shirt off, making muscle man poses, in various cities around the world (Virtual Men).

"Email me back and I'll send you a photo," he said. Seeing multiple pictures of "Beverly Hills Guy" wearing little clothing, it was obvious that he is not a man who frequents the gym. "What else is there left to see?" I replied, after 6 months of ignoring his 'winks'. "You've left nothing for the imagination." After two quick email exchanges, I discovered (unbeknownst to him) he's in business with a Portugese man, Alejandro, who I went out with twice last year, from the same dating site...

Alejandro moved to L.A. from Lisbon. His English was not so good and I don't speak Portugese, so communication was a bit challenging. We met at a restaurant, and talked for a couple of hours. When the check came, I offered to contribute, but he declined and said, "Next time."

A few days later Alejandro invited me to dinner. Since he was new to town, he asked a couple of friends for suggestions for nice restaurants and then settled on an upscale place on the westside. We had a cocktail at the bar, before the hostess seated us and transferred the bar tab over to our table.

Alejandro works in the film business, so we talked about our favorite movies over dinner, sharing a nice bottle of red that he chose from the extensive wine list. He also mentioned he is a painter and wanted to show me some of his work. “Follow me to my place after dinner,” he said, “maybe I’ll give you a piece.”

When the check came, Alejandro stood up from the table, grabbed his jacket, and handed me the bill. He said, "After you take care of the check, follow me to my apartment so I can show you my paintings." I guess this was the 'next time' and it was my turn to pay.

I need to get off online dating sites.

So, when a friend invited me to an art gallery opening, I happily accepted. Upon arrival, she introduced me to her boss, a handsome gay male, wearing a Ralph Lauren suit. He guided me around the party and pointed out who was gay, straight, single, or married, as well as who I should approach and who I should stay away from. But, ultimately, the general consensus was the most handsome man at the event was the off-duty SWAT guy working security.

As the night wore on, I eventually made my way over to the SWAT guy, Patrick, who has a full head of salt and pepper hair, long eyelashes and a tan, friendly face. He was easy to talk to and I'm guessing most good cops probably have an ease about them that makes you feel comfortable and therefore, more prone to hearing confessions. I also imagined the flip side of his personality that takes over when he's commanding a SWAT mission.

"A friend of mine also runs a SWAT team up in Ventura County," I mentioned. I met Steve online about a year ago. We went out a couple of times, but ultimately remained friends (He's a Nice Guy, Just Not the Right Guy for Me). "Oh yeah? I probably know him. What's his name?" I told Patrick his name. "Yeah, I know him. A real pretty boy,” he said.

I need to get off of online dating sites and get out more.

Is the dating pool in Los Angeles for women my age really small or is it just a coincidence that two men in one week know men I’ve dated within the past year? I need to find a different body of water.

I thought about my cousin Lisa and her upcoming nuptials and wondered if I would ever meet the right guy. "There's someone out there for everyone," my mother says, "and eventually you will find someone too.

Transforming Lives... and 57 Orgasms (Part 2)

2010-05-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

I met a friend for an early dinner last Sunday at Baby Blues on Santa Monica. He knew I had a lot of work to do later, so he offered me a vitamin capsule that would provide the energy I needed to get everything done. "I get these at GNC and take one before I work out," he said. I didn't want to drink coffee this late in the day so I swallowed one, thinking it would only last a couple of hours. "Oh no Sweetie, that one capsule lasts about ten hours". It was 5:00pm. "Are you kidding me? I'm going to be up until 3:00am?" I exclaimed, completely unhappy by this news. "Call me. I'll be up too," he said. No! I needed sleep before starting another busy week.

I went home and not only did I accomplish all my work, but I cleaned my kitchen, cleaned the bathroom, did laundry, walked my dog, organized my closets, spruced up the back yard, watered the plants and still had energy to burn. So when Scott arrived at 9:00pm, I was ready to have a cocktail, hoping to mellow out my wired buzz. Completely amped on this energy pill, I walked quickly and talked faster than normal, en route to a neighborhood restaurant.

As we sat down, I said to Scott, "Listen, a friend of mine gave me this energy capsule and it's really making me edgy." "I'm glad you told me," he said. "That explains why you were walking so fast. I can clear that out of your system if you like."

Scott wrapped his hand around my leg, just above my knee and squeezed really hard. "This will open up your spleen," he explained, as I winced in pain. He talked me through an exercise, telling me to visualize energy rising up through my body to my head and then back down to my toes, which I then imagined the energy sinking into the ground, with roots sprouting from my heels and growing deeper into the earth. "Imagine a golden shower pouring over you and cleansing your entire body," he said. He repeated the whole sequence a couple of times and then asked me how I was feeling.

Whether it was psychosomatic, or if the process actually worked, I do not know. However, my speech slowed and I no longer felt the urge to grind my teeth. "I have a bag of Chinese herbs in my car that might help open you up later," he offered. "We'll see how you're feeling, and then decide whether or not you need the herbs."

When the bartender arrived, Scott suggested I order a margarita. Apparently, certain alcohols perform particular functions in our body and tequila is very good for opening yourself up. (This is not news for anyone who has ever drank too much tequila!). I really did not want alcohol, but Scott insisted the tequila would help mellow out my body.

We started talking about relationships again. Scott was explaining that society needs to understand that women drive relationships. "If there's an accident, it's the woman's fault," he said, explaining that fault has no right or wrong, but since the woman is driving the car, it is always her fault-- and then it becomes the man's job to fix the wreck, so the couple can get back on the road to finish their journey. I wasn't buying Scott's simplified version of relationships, however, I did realize I've been in relationships where I was the driver and the fixer.

"Well then you're with a pussy," he said. "You don't want to suffer with Joe Pussy, especially when there's a smorgasbord right here in front of you." Hearing a grown man say 'pussy' repeatedly, and describing himself as a smorgasbord was quite disturbing.

He continued, "If you don't pick at the smorgasbord, and eat it and drink it and take it into your body, then you will walk out of here starving and go look for a pussy to beg off of." I felt like I was suddenly caught in a Seinfeld episode about "The Pussy Guy".

"Do you get it?" he continued. I got it, but I didn't want to eat off his plate. I checked the clock.

"What are you looking for in a man?" Scott asked as I looked around the restaurant, planning my escape. I thought of another way to answer the same question I am always asked. "I want connection, friendship, love and commitment. "Well," Scott said, "you're looking in all the wrong places, because you haven't found deep love and friendship within yourself." Yes, Scott spouted the same answer that every so-called guru, metaphysical healer and pop psychologist claims. What we seek outside ourselves, is what we lack within, and somehow whatever we lack, instantly shows up once we find whatever 'it' is, in ourselves.

I grew weary of Scott's diatribes. I fantasized crawling under my comforter, my head laying down on my fresh sheets and falling into a deep sleep. Scott walked me back home but before we got to my door, he retrieved the chinese herbs from the trunk of his car and brought them inside.

"So what exactly do the Chinese herbs do?" I asked. "Well they open you up," he said. "They open up your mind, your head, your eyes, your lungs, your pussy, your heart, your legs..." he continued. The more Scott talked, the more every molecule in my body tightened and lifted a shield of armor. "But I'm feeling your vibe and I'm feeling the vibe of the herbs and I'm not feeling you need the herbs tonight," he said. Was it because I was sitting at the other end of my sofa with my arms folded across my chest?

I stood up and opened the door for Scott. Another night had passed, this time with talk of golden showers, open legs and pussies... I agreed with Scott. I have been looking for love in all the wrong places.

We will have millions of relationships in our lifetimes, and whether our relationships last a minute, an hour, two years, four decades or a lifetime, every relationship will eventually end and my 'relationship' with Scott had reached its conclusion.

Maybe the right man will come into my life now that I am "clear" of the shadow on my lung, say goodbye to pussies, vow always to be the driver and not the fixer in a relationship, and love myself exactly as I am... or maybe not. But what I do know is to love, appreciate, nurture and enjoy the relationships I do have in my life, for as long as I am fortunate enough to have them.

Transforming Lives... and 57 Orgasms (Part 1)

2010-05-11T21:41:00.000-07:00

Scott 'winked' at me on an online dating site, so I read his profile. He described himself as "a healer and doctor who travels the world, helping people live extraordinary lives through personal transformation." With such a powerful claim, how could I not meet this guy?

Scott followed up the next day with an email, saying he was in town from Paris for a couple of days, and asked if I was free later that night. Since it was short notice, I suggested a neighborhood restaurant, where I know the staff and feel safe when meeting a total stranger from the internet.

About a dozen people were standing in the entrance when I arrived, but it was easy to identify Scott, since he's about six feet, four inches tall. He turned, smiled and introduced himself. He politely asked where I would like to sit and then pulled out the bar stool for me to sit down.

He spoke a lot about his work with severely ill people and how he helps transform their lives. He also mentioned he's an inventor and creates devices that help him heal others. "Like what?" I asked. "Anything I could buy on the market?"

He pulled out a small plastic item from his pocket. "This device contains rare earth minerals," he claimed. "You can put this item around practically anything and it will make it better." The stick looked like a miniature baseball bat filled with sand. "For instance," he suggested, "I could put this in your drink and the alcohol will taste better. He offered to place it in my cosmopolitan, which I thought already tasted pretty good. I was unsure of a guy, who I just met, putting some unknown substance in my drink so I laughed and joked, "Hey, that's a clever way to slip someone a roofie."

His response was, "Trust me, if we were having sex, and you were having 57 orgasms, I would want us both to be completely conscious and aware of one another. Sex is one of the most amazing experiences we have as human beings."

Scott put the stick in his own drink first, and then asked me to taste it. I rarely, if ever drink Scotch, so I did not notice any difference. He then placed the large swizzle stick in my drink and, after a few moments, he removed it. I took a sip. The tartness was gone, therefore making my cocktail a lot easier to swallow. I ordered another.

Scott talked a lot about healing the sick and transforming the lives of others, but not much about how he actually heals people, so I inquired about his practice. "What exactly is your process in identifying the problem and then fixing it?" Scott explained that he sees people's auras, energies, chakras and vibrations and then draws a picture of everything he sees inside and around that person. By being able to visualize their 'being', he can see where the strengths and weaknesses reside.

I wanted a more specific answer, so I asked him if he would give me an example, using me as the test subject. He agreed and then said, "You have a shadow on your left lung." Ok, hearing "shadow on my left lung" was not exactly what I was expecting. I immediately thought cancer and then realized "Oh shit, my health insurance just lapsed." My mind raced with paranoid thoughts, but I remained calm. "A shadow on my left lung?" I asked. "Well, what exactly does that mean and, more importantly, how do I get rid of it?"

"It means that-- when you were born, you were a happy and smiling girl, just like you are now," he said. "But your father and the people around you, told you life isn't that way. Life isn't always good, and you weren't supported in a positive way. You're still carrying that with you."

A shaman once told me that the lessons I need to learn in life will keep confronting me until I actually learn what needs to be learned. Anyone who knows me, knows I don't have a close relationship with my father. (Barking Up the Wrong Tree) I have no anger towards him, no pain, no suffering or regret. I just don't know him very well. But here I am, at a bar, with a complete stranger, twenty minutes into a conversation and he's telling me I'm carrying a shadow on my lung because of issues with my father. "Ok lesson, I hear you loud and clear!" Can I finally learn what I need to learn and move on?

So I asked Scott, "How can I, once and for all, transform my body and be free from issues clouding my lung?" "May I touch you?" he asked. "Sure," I said, as he placed his right hand on my heart and ran his left palm down my back. "Do you feel the energy opening up?" I can't really say I felt anything, however, I did imagine this shadow leaving my body. "It's all gone now," he said. "There's no reason for you to ever revisit that memory again. Just be in the moment and keep moving forward."

Wait. After 44 years of my father issues, was it really over? "Is that really it?" I asked. "I'm done with my father issues?" He replied, "Your dad may not have been the father you wanted him to be, but he's a divine being and he gave you life. You have no right to judge another divine being." It's so hard to argue with someone when they throw in the word 'divine'. But there was no denying his sperm penetrated the egg that divided multiple times and caused me.

"Say 'I love you dad'," said Scott as I swallowed the last gulp of my second cosmo. I declined. I wasn't feeling it. "What do you have to lose?" he said. "Come on, 'I love you dad'," he repeated. Ok. I finally gave in. "I love you dad," I said, "Is that ok?" Scott was persistent. "It doesn't have to be okay for me," he responded, "Is it ok for you?" I wondered how much longer I could be polite before I escaped home to watch the rest of "Sherlock Homes" which has been spinning in my DVD player since last Tuesday.

"I love you dad" I said repeatedly until it was so easy to say that I didn't care anymore. Scott then asked me to repeat those same words of 'I love you' to every man who has ever caused me grief. With two cocktails in my system, softened by the rare earth minerals, I easily pronounced 'my love' for every guy who has ever perceivably fucked up my life over the past two decades.

Wait a second... within an hour of meeting Scott, he talked about 57 orgasms, put a questionable foreign object in my drink and had me say repeatedly at the bar, "I love you daddy"?!

A woman I work with is always astounded by the type of men I meet. After telling her about Scott she asked, "Who is the most normal guy you've ever met online?" "That's easy," I said, "It was actually the guy who legally changed his name to Rock Star."

To Be 29 Again...

2010-05-06T07:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I schedule a meeting, but the guy thinks it's a date, and sometimes I have meetings I wish were dates.

I met Ken, who works in the film industry, at a social event. I was interested in seeing him again and learning more about how his end of the film business works. We exchanged business cards. He called two days later and we met for a drink at AOC on Third St. The hostess took us to the little bar in the back, but before we sat down he said, "I didn't think it would be so easy to get a date with you."

Ken was quite a bit older than me, so I hadn't thought our meeting was a date. I sat down and re-examined him. One of the perks of working in the entertainment industry is the casual dress code. If I was meeting Ken to talk business, I would have paid little attention to his wardrobe, but since he's single, I studied the man sitting across from me a little more closely. If he thought we were on a date, why was he wearing Crocs, baggy jeans and a fleece pullover littered with lint and a food stain? My 78-year old neighbor wears the same outfit to the end of his driveway to retrieve the morning paper. Ken was unshaven (which I sometimes like) but in his case, the stubble sealed his general unkempt look.

"Guys are telling you all the time who they are," said Dennis. "You just need to look and listen." Ken has been single for a long time and clearly put little thought into his appearance before meeting me for a date. I didn't need to look closely to understand that comfort was more important to him than looking good.

Ken didn't want to talk about business. He wanted to talk about dating. "Why do you think you've never married?" he asked. I am asked this question on every date and I can answer this question a dozen different ways. However, at this particular moment in time, my answer was, "I haven't met a potential partner who... the more I get to know him, the more I want to know him." I have had a few long-term relationships, one in particular that was headed for marriage, but the more I got to know the guy, the more I questioned his integrity. Until, finally, I couldn't back pedal fast enough, put the car in reverse and peel away. (I'm still recovering financially from that mistake).

Frankly, the more dates I go on, the more I realize how surprisingly easy it is to lower my expectations. I have to take a step back every once in awhile and reassess the qualities I desire in a man. Or, I find myself on a second date with someone like Larry. We went to a beach club for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon, and after a couple of glasses of wine, I dozed off in the sun, only to be woken up with Larry squeezing into my cabana chair, trying to stick his tongue in my mouth.

"Well, what qualities are you looking for in a man?" he asked. Guys ask this question all the time too. If they're interested in you, they want to know if they're even in your same ballpark, or if a woman's expectations are too high.

In this economy I fantasized finding a handsome, successful man in great shape, who lives in a beautiful house, travels the world, has interesting friends, and who tells me I don't have to work anymore, or have a care in the world. However, what I really look for, and what has eluded me over the years, is finding a romantic partner with a strong moral core, who I can trust. "Trust is really important to me," I said, "Without trust, you've got nothing."Maybe your expectations are too high," revealed Ken. He was right. In Los Angeles, it's harder to find an honest man with integrity, than a guy with a nice car and a pool.

Then there are the times I find myself sitting across the table from someone I wish was a date. I met Sam, a fledgling screenwriter, who is new to town. He's a former professional baseball player, 29 and single. I sat across the table from this handsome guy, with his broad smile. Listening to him talk about his recent experiences, reminded me of the time when I first arrived to Los Angeles and the excitement and anticipation I felt being here, wondering how my life would unfold. Ah, if only I was 29 again, knowing what I know now.

"Must See to Believe"

2010-04-26T23:01:00.001-07:00

After a string of mediocre dates, I have a really hard time mustering up energy to make another date with some random guy. So, I considered myself lucky when I received an email from a 52 year-old Beverly Hills man that read, "I'm free tonight. Meet me at Cecchoni's at 7:30 and don't be late." I had a date without having to lift a finger.

I liked this guy's direct approach, and imagined he is a real man who knows what he wants. However, after close examination of the small photo he posted, I couldn't really tell what he looked like, which is always a bad sign. Handsome men typically post multiple pictures in various poses. Guys who aren't blessed with good looks, usually post one photo and expound about what incredible men they are in their profiles. However, this Beverly Hills "management consultant" whose screen name was "2good2btrue," only filled in the cursory answers (leaving out his height) and wrote one sentence about himself, "Must see to believe," oddly making himself sound like a circus freak.

I imagined what my friend Dennis would say if I called him up and asked his opinion. "Baby, what kind of guy would write that in his profile, unless he had major issues?" I wondered if "2good2btrue" sent the same email to multiple women and waited to see if anyone would actually show up. Or, was he just so arrogant that he believed he could captivate any woman he met? I came across this type of guy before, and his attitude reminded me of one particular night in New York years ago...

It was a warm, sunny evening in Manhattan. I walked into Raoul's on Prince Street in Soho to kill time, before meeting an acquaintance for dinner. Only a few tables were occupied in the restaurant, and the bar was empty. I sat on a stool and ordered a cocktail from Eddie, who has poured drinks at Raoul's for almost as long as the place has been open.

I sipped my martini while writing a letter to a friend traveling through Europe. A few minutes passed before a strong smelling cologne hovered in the air, breaking my focus. I looked up from the page. “Hi, I’m Jeff,” he said, holding out his hand. "Hello," I replied. Jeff was slender, average in height and had dark hair, combed back with too much product. He was wearing suit pants and a blue, collared shirt. His skin was pasty and shiny, and he looked slick. I went back to writing my letter, but he sat down on the stool next to me and asked my name. I put my pen down, knowing he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

We made small talk for awhile and then I asked him what he did for a living. “I’m an artist," he said. He didn’t look like one. I lived in New York for a number of years and had met a lot of artists. I figured Jeff to be an accountant, stockbroker or attorney. He told me his last name, saw the blank stare on my face and was quite offended I didn’t know who he was. I frequented museums and galleries and thought I was fairly knowledgeable of the New York art world, but I didn't recognize his name.

“Would I know any of your work?” I asked. He mentioned one of his pieces that had received a lot of attention. I had seen the sculpture and wondered who, in their right mind, would consider it art. Assuming he was joking, I laughed out loud. My amusement, however, sparked an interesting conversation about our favorite artists, writers and films. Surprisingly, we shared similar tastes and a few laughs. Then, Jeff leaned in, as if he was letting me in on a secret, and told me he was staying at The Algonquin Hotel in midtown.

“Would you like accompany me to my hotel room?” he asked. I was a bit shocked at his direct approach. “No, I’m sorry," I responded. It was nice talking to you, but no.” He leaned in closer. “Really?" he said, "I’ll give you one more opportunity," he whispered, his lips brushing against my earlobe. "Would you like to accompany me to my hotel room?”

Was it because I am a woman, alone in an empty bar at night, that he thought I would jump into a cab with a stranger and go to his hotel room, after a couple of cocktails and a pleasant conversation? Or was he just incredibly arrogant and not used to hearing 'no' for an answer? "No. Thank you." I said. He threw enough money on the bar to cover his drink. “You have no fucking clue what you’re missing!” he seethed as he stormed out the front door, knocking into a patron on his way out.

I turned to Eddie, “Can you believe that guy?” I asked, a bit shaken. We both started laughing to relieve the tension, and just as we were getting over the shock of Jeff's outburst, he reappeared in the doorway, a cab idling behind him. “Alright," he said, "I’m offering you one last chance. It’s now or never.”

I arrived at Cecchoni's and thought about that night in Manhattan, wondering if "2good2btrue" was at all like Jeff. I took a seat in the far corner of the bar, where I could easily keep an eye on the entrance. I like Cecchoni's. It has a New York vibe and professional bartenders who know how to make any cocktail you can possibly name.

By 7:50, no one had arrived, looking for a date. And, just as I was ready to leave, a woman shouted my name, "Oh my god, how long has it been since I've seen you?!" Monica and I were good friends when I first moved to L.A., but had lost touch over the years. Here she was at Cecchoni's with her new husband and baby girl.

They were waiting for a table, so they joined me at the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an extremely tall, awkward gentleman walk into the restaurant. He stood at the entrance and took his time glancing around the place, uncomfortably aware of the patrons turning to stare at this unusually tall man. I could feel his eyes eventually land on me, as I chatted away with Monica and her new family, catching up on the past decade. Just as I looked in his direction, he turned, reached for a toothpick from the hostess stand and left.

I'll never know for sure if this man was "2good2btrue", but he made me contemplate about how difficult and tedious dating can be and how hard it can be to connect with someone on an emotional and intimate level. We make ourselves vulnerable, but we never know if we'll be accepted or rejected. What can you do, but keep trying, and learning and growing. However, I'm guessing it's easier for some of us, than it is for others.

Coffee or Cocktail?

2010-04-20T14:30:00.000-07:00

I've gone out on a number of dates this past week, but haven't met anyone I want to see again. "Really?" asked my sarcastic friend Amanda, who is also online dating. "What a surprise since there are so many fantastic men in this town!"

My brother mentioned a book called, "Undateable: 311 Things Guys Do That Guarantee They Won't Be Dating or Having Sex," written by a former producer for Oprah. I skimmed the list of what makes a guy bad date material and agreed with a couple of comments, like "guys who don't like animals," "bad spellers" or "heavy texters".

Bad spelling has always been a pet peeve of mine, and you can't get to know a person through text messaging. However, many of the other items on the list were ridiculous like, "guys who order salads," or "guys who can't grow a mustache" or "Mr. Have You Met My Chest?" for the guy who has one too many shirt buttons unbuttoned. (However, if a guy's in really good shape, I personally take no offense to this entry and, depending on how the date goes, may want to see more).

I found the list mostly superficial, but wondered why I was not excited about a second date with any of the men I met recently. Maybe I was being superficial too.

First, there was Jason, who I met at the Four Seasons for a drink. He works as a CPA in the entertainment industry and is quite a bit older than me. He was unable to look me in the eye and spoke directly to my forehead the entire evening. No matter how much I adjusted my position on the barstool, Jason adjusted his eye line, directly to my hairline. Making eye contact with him was completely impossible. I now know what it must be like for women who have big boobs and guys talk directly to their chests. Granted, talking to my forehead was completely different, but disconcerting all the same.

Jason was quite animated. He spun a detailed story about one particular position he held, starting in 1983 and ending... an hour and forty-five minutes later. After three Jacks on the rocks, his speech was a little looser and his saliva sprayed a fine mist. When he began the third act, and finally reached the climax of his tale, he drooled. I did not see where it landed and pretended not to notice, by focusing on his forehead.

Then there was Luke, who is my age. We met at a coffee house in Encino. He's fair-skinned, with light blue eyes and was wearing a horrible, beige, knit sweater, blue jeans, white socks and black shoes. When meeting someone for the first time, I like to make a good impression. If this is the best you got, then it can only go downhill from here.

Once we sat down, Luke said that since he had my cell phone number, he googled me. He scoured the internet and knew more about me, than most of my own friends. I was a little creeped out by his admission. So, since he knew so much about my life, I asked what he did for a living. He immediately began to apologize for his career, "Oh, my job is not so interesting. It's really boring," he said. "But I guess I did ok since I raised four kids with it." I asked him again what he did for a living. "Well, I sell ad space on bus benches, " he stated. "Most of my clients were realtors and I was making bank, until the real estate market bottomed out."

Luke was an affable guy, but I wasn't feeling much chemistry. I am looking for a partner and he is looking for someone to make his life more exciting. We said our goodbyes and I got into my car. Thirty seconds later, Luke texted me a photo of himself and a text message that read, "I can be a lot more fun then today... I promise!" :-D Call me if you're interested, if not... phooey! :-)" He was apologizing again. And, up until what age is it appropriate for a man to text multiple smiley faces to a date?

Twenty minutes went by and my phone chirped with another text. Again, it was from Luke. "P.S. Please ignore the hideous picture I just sent. After further review, I really wish I could take it back. Do I really look like that? (sigh)." Instead of calling me on the phone, Luke was unwittingly playing out the same infamous scene in "Swingers" via his repeated texts. (And by the way, I'm hoping he isn't still googling me and finding this blog).

I've grown tired of all the lists about what makes men 'undateable'. I would much rather focus on all the good things women look for in men. For me, a sense of humor is a must and suggests a strong intellect as well. Or... does he open the door, does he listen as much as he talks? Is he gracious? Is he nice to me, as well as the people around us? A quick survey of the women around me suggested adjectives such as: confident, good-natured, soulful, outgoing, adaptable, honest and faithful. Unlike Amanda, I know there are plenty of amazing, single men in Los Angeles. I just haven't quite figured out where to find them.

The Pick-Up Line

2010-04-15T11:48:00.000-07:00

"Excuse me, Miss?" said a male voice behind me. I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard near Highland, late for a meeting. I didn't turn around, assuming his request was addressing someone else at this busy intersection.

"Excuse me, Miss," the man's voice asserted again. Hollywood & Highland is a very popular tourist area. It's not uncommon to see two or three Spidermans, a couple of Marilyns or a Michael Jackson posing for photos with vacationers. This particular location is not a great environment to engage in conversations with random strangers.

"Excuse me, Miss!" he said a third time. Persistent bugger, that's for sure. I wondered if I just kept walking, how far he would actually keep following me. I didn't want to find out.

"You dropped something," he said. No I didn't... Did I? But, how could I know for sure? Damnit. I stopped and turned around. A young guy in his mid-30s stepped in front of me, smiling, "If you fell for that, could you fall for me?"

Virtual Men

2010-04-11T13:01:00.000-07:00

You would think with all the communication devices that exist today, it would be easy to meet someone in person, but the complete opposite is true. If we're all online, then why does it take so much effort to come face-to-face with a date? What's the point of spending time talking, texting, IMing, or emailing if there's no chemistry when you actually meet?

I got a phone call from an online match Friday night, as he was driving home from work. His first two questions were, "What kind of man are you looking for?" and "What character traits are most important to you?" I had just walked in the door after a hectic day and was feeding my dog. I usually like to start with, "Hi, how are you?" but Rick dove right into the deep end. I know his type of personality though. Rick works in film production so he's used to gathering large amounts of information as quickly as possible, in order to make informed decisions and then move on to the next thing. I was probably one of a few phone calls he was making on his way home from the online inventory. "Rick, I'm happy to answer these questions, but could we meet in person first?" I asked. "Let's see if there's any chemistry between us before we start into such a personal conversation." He replied, "Well, I'd like to understand who you are, before meeting in the flesh."

I could hear my friend Dennis' voice in my head, "Baby, these are the kinds of questions you answer when you're on date four or five, not over the phone to some guy you've never met." I was less than enthusiastic to divulge my wants, hopes and desires in a man, over a speakerphone in a stranger's car, as he was multi-tasking during rush hour traffic.

While Rick was telling me about his five kids and ex-wife, my phone 'tri-toned' with a text from "Todd" asking what I was doing later, and then chirped with an email from "Jake" (A Potpourri of Potential Paramours) wanting to know if I used any IM's. Great, I could spend my entire day on a variety of technological devices, communicating with a bunch of virtual guys, and never actually meet a real man.

"Do you have any questions for me?" asked Rick, bringing my focus back to him on the telephone. I really didn't. We could have driven to a location and had a coffee or a cocktail in person, during the same time we spent on the phone. "You must have some questions about me," he insisted, so I thought a little harder. "Uh, ok, why did you and your wife divorce after twenty years?" As soon as I uttered the words, I regretted asking the question. I didn't care to know why this total stranger divorced his wife. However, his answer was quite informative. After implying she wasn't bright he added, "She wasn't a good representative of who I am." Was I just tired and cranky, or was Rick really arrogant?

Todd texted me again. I have never met Todd either. He's also from an online dating site. We spoke briefly on the phone the night before, commenting that we looked familiar to each other. He was an affable guy, but made it quite clear what he was looking for, "You understand I'm not a relationship guy, right?" he stated. "Yeah, I got it." I didn't need to read between the lines. He replied, "Oh ok, good, you figured that out." Five minutes on the phone with Todd was enough time to know I wouldn't be sharing details of my personal life with him over a glass of wine.

The following night, I was out with friends and received a text from Todd after midnight. "You able to come by?" he asked. This was my first booty text ever. I didn't respond. The next morning he texted me again, "Wow, not even a text back." Funny how suddenly I'm the jerk for not responding to a booty text from a guy I've never met. I wrote back saying I didn't think driving to a stranger's house in the valley, in middle of the night was a recipe for success. He texted again, "Wanna come by today? Meeting me is always a success." I declined. He wrote back, "Unavailable is such an LA thing, big turn off." I didn't need drama with someone I've never even met.

What happened to making a date and feeling the anticipation and excitement about getting to know someone better? The few successful online dates I've had, resulted from a short email exchange--no long conversations on the phone or multiple texts back and forth. We just picked a place to meet. If there was chemistry, we went out again. Emails and texts can sometimes be misconstrued and cause misunderstanding and heartache without having uttered one audible word.

We all have busy lives and maybe, sometimes, stay busy in order to avoid starting a new relationship. But no technological device in the world could ever duplicate chemistry between two people and... what our eyes see and our hearts feel.

"I Know the Perfect Guy For You"

2010-04-07T07:27:00.001-07:00

I learn a lot about people by the type of man they fix me up with.

I have friends who are happily married and are genuinely interested in introducing me to a great guy. However, over the years, I have discovered that most blind dates aren't really for my benefit, but to fulfill a need for the person fixing me up.

For instance, Angela is 45 and has been married for 20 years. She loves her husband, but he is quite a bit older than her, and intimacy has waned over the last decade. So if a handsome man flirts with her, she gives him my phone number, hoping romance will develop, so she can hear all the juicy details.

Other women fancy themselves matchmakers and like to take credit for all the successful marriages they have arranged. Then, there are the women who are so miserable in their own life, they want you to be miserable too.

"Carolyn, oh my god, is that you?" said Cynthia, surprised to see me at the grocery store at 7:00 am on a Saturday morning. Cynthia was a former development executive, who was high-maintenance to the nth degree. I used to wonder how she ever got any work done, since her life revolved around pedicures, spa treatments, waxings, botox injections, hair appointments and shopping trips. She left the entertainment industry after she met a producer and got married.

However, a handful of years passed since I had last seen Cynthia. She put on some weight, her hair was wet and she had three small kids crying and pulling at her clothes. I'm guessing she was grocery shopping early in the morning, hoping she wouldn't run into anyone she knew.

"You're still hopelessly single, aren't you?" she screamed to anyone within three aisles of us. She always had a knack for embarrassing and belittling people, in order to make herself feel better. I imagine seeing me solo, happy, with a book in my hand and headed for the airport for a weekend trip, reminded her of the time when her life revolved around... well, her.

"I know the perfect guy for you!" she exclaimed. Cynthia had always been competitive and she had never been particularly nice to me, so her sudden urge to fix me up on a blind date raised a few flags. I proceeded with caution. When certain people are unhappy, they like to make sure that everyone around them is unhappy too.

"His name's Peter," she said. "He used to be an accountant but now has his own film company. He's smart-- just like you" she added. Cynthia never complimented anyone. "Sure, let me know," I said, hoping she would never follow through.

Two days later my phone rang. "Hi, Carolyn, this is Peter. Cynthia told me I had to call you up and ask you out, before someone else snatched you up." Cynthia never did anything nice for anybody. She was clearly working both angles really hard in an attempt to get us together. I was convinced nothing good could come out of this date. "I've got two tickets to the hottest place in town," he offered. "Oh really, where is that?" I asked. "Well, you'll just have to come with me and find out." A blind date who doesn't want to tell you where he's taking you is a bad sign. However, could all these negatives turn into a positive? Ok, Cynthia. I'm game. Bring it on.

The following Thursday, Peter picked me up at my house right on time. Upon laying eyes on him, I wondered if he was wearing a toupee, or if his hair was an expensive weave. He did, in fact, look like an accountant, wearing a brown suit and tan shoes. He was probably 15 years older than me and had bad breath. But he seemed nice and was a gentleman. "Are you ready for the time of your life?" he asked.

Peter opened the passenger side door of his new Jaguar for me and I got in. I was carrying a small handbag, so I placed my keys underneath the passenger side floor mat. "Please don't let me forget I put my keys here," I asked.

My anticipation about where Peter might be taking me, was cut short by the quick drive and left turn into The Magic Castle, a private club and training ground for aspiring magicians. I can appreciate the amount of time and talent it takes to become a David Copperfield or Criss Angel, but I have never been a huge fan of magic, magic shows or magicians-- and this particular night was 'aspiring magician kids night'.

I sprinted to the bar, but before I could utter my drink order, an older woman with blue hair, wearing an evening gown, pulled me aside and asked, "How did you get in here? There's a very strict dress code. Women must wear a skirt or a dress in order to gain entrance to the Magic Castle." I was wearing pants. "Fine by me," I thought. "Peter, should we go somewhere else?" I asked, praying we would leave. "Don't worry," he responded. "I'll defend you, should a staff member cause a ruckus." I appreciated his chivalrous gesture, but unfortunately, he wasn't my idea of a knight in shining armor. He took my arm and ushered me into the lounge.

After a cool shot of vodka entered my bloodstream, I took a mint and offered one to Peter, which, gratefully, he accepted. We then entered the theatre and took our seats. As we waited for the show to begin, Peter took a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and performed a decent card trick. "Wow. That was very impressive," I commented. "Do you want to know how I did that?" he asked. "Sure Peter, how'd you do that?" "Give me a kiss and I'll tell you." The older woman seated next to me, who had been watching the card trick over my shoulder, nudged me. "Come on, give him a kiss so I can see how he did it." I kissed Peter on the cheek. He grinned and said, "A good magician never reveals his secret." "Ahhh, you're very clever," the woman responded.

The house lights went down. A twelve year old magician-in-training took the stage. For two hours, kids ranging in age from 8 to 15 years old, performed magic tricks. Every molecule in my body was screaming to get out of there, but no one was allowed to leave during a show. I longed for the bar and another cocktail, but was confined to my seat. So, I focused on the stage curtains and transported my mind to another place. I fantasized lying on a beach in Bora Bora and getting a massage by a young, handsome, muscular man. I thought about flying to New York to visit friends. I designed my dream house. I reminded myself to pull weeds in the back yard, clean out my closets, return those emails that I never finished and to floss my teeth. In between fantasies, I occasionally glanced at Peter, who was completely enraptured by the show. I nodded and smiled, acknowledging what a great show we were witnessing together, before returning to my drive along the Amalfi coast.

Two hours later, we made our way to the exit. I stood with Peter at the valet stand, waiting for his car to come around. It was a typically warm, L.A. night, so Peter put the top down. I prayed that his slightly skewed hairpiece would stay on, despite the breeze.

As he pulled up on my driveway, I reached under the floor mat for my keys. They were gone. I lifted up the mat and searched everywhere, anxious to put this night behind me. I scoured the entire car. I would have pulled up the floor boards if it was possible. I asked Peter if he had them. "No," he assured me. My keys were nowhere to be found.

I gauged the distance between the ground and my bedroom window and how I might gain entrance to the house. "No hidden spare key?" he asked. "Unfortunately, no," I said, as Peter grinned, watching me take off my shoes and hike my leg high up onto the ledge. "I'd give you a leg up," he offered, "but I threw my back out recently."

I hoisted myself up to the window sill and was able to pry open the window. I squeezed my way through the narrow opening, and landed hard on the floor. As I straightened my clothes, the doorbell rang. A few moments passed and the doorbell rang again. I opened the front door, thanked Peter for the evening and said goodbye.

The next day, Peter called my office. "Carolyn, I didn't know to what great lengths you would go in order to see me again." "Excuse me?" I asked. "I found your keys," he said laughing. "Right under the floor mat. Exactly where you put them." I didn't need to kiss him to know how he managed that sleight of hand. "Some magic trick," I thought.

I haven't seen Cynthia since she arranged my blind date with Peter, however I suspect she enjoys a good laugh each time she thinks about it.

Franco and His Ferrari

2010-04-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

I had a glass of wine with a girlfriend yesterday at a restaurant in Santa Monica. We caught up on each others lives as we watched the sunset on the beach. When we asked for the check, the waiter told us that a gentleman named Franco had already taken care of our bill. I only know one man in L.A. with that name.

Ten years ago, Franco and I met at a bar when we were both waiting for friends. We spoke briefly, realized we knew a couple of people in common and then exchanged business cards. He called a week later and asked me out to dinner. We met at this same restaurant in Santa Monica-- Sushi Roku.

Franco was in finance. He worked at a large corporation for fifteen years as a self-described 'thug'. They send me in to close the deal," he said. He made a lot of money for this company but was frustrated, knowing they would never promote him to the top ranks. He was good at closing deals, but the company didn't think he had the chops to be a corporate officer. So he left and started his own venture capital company. "Gotta keep moving, gotta keep shaking," he said, as he snapped his fingers on both hands, simultaneously.

While we waited at the bar, I examined Franco more closely. He was tall and muscular with requisite salt and pepper hair. He was wearing an expensive suit jacket and jeans, Prada loafers, a thin gold chain around his neck and sported a ring on each pinky.

The bar was so crowded, we could barely hear each other speak. Franco pushed through the crush of people and ordered a couple of drinks. He turned back and gave me the once over. "Nice tits. They're a little on the small side, but that's ok." A few moments passed before my brain actually computed what he had just said.

I wondered why, during the course of history, clothes were designed to promote and enhance a woman's breast, but not a man's genitalia. I lamented a world where women could behold the family jewels before committing to a date.

Dare I retort with "What a dick!" and add, "Even though you're average in size"? Since the conversation had begun at such a low, there was no point in responding to his statement. It could only go downhill from here. I bit my tongue. I understood why Franco had never been promoted.

He handed me a martini and immediately started in, "I rolled the Ferrari," raising his voice unnaturally with an emphasis on Ferrari. I understand a man's fascination with high-powered cars. Driving a sports car up the coast on a beautiful afternoon can be a transcending experience. The smell of the leather, the feel of the clutch, the sound of the engine and the power at your fingertips is seductive and sexy. However, when a date grinds the clutch or doesn't accelerate about 65 mph, I suspect he didn't buy the car for the ultimate driving experience.

"You got in an accident?" I asked, not sure what 'rolled' meant. "Nah, nah, nah. I flipped it. I turned it over. I rolled it. I'm getting a new one. I've put too many miles on the one I got."

I listened as Franco leaned against a stool, describing the intricacies of owning a Ferrari. Both guys on either side of Franco listened to his pontifications, before turning around to scrutinize me. "Franco, sushi bar for two," rescued the hostess.

Franco ordered enough sushi to feed a large family. He wanted me to try at least one piece of every kind of fish on the menu. This was fun, until he insisted on hand feeding me. "No, really that's ok," I protested, as he shoved a piece of fish into my mouth. I pulled away quickly. "That was too fast," he said. "You gotta do it slower." I fantasized sitting across from Johnny Depp and hearing those same words. Being tipsy on sake and a handsome man feeding me sushi could be an erotic experience, but not with Franco.

When the valet pulled up, I thanked Franco for dinner and sprinted to my car, but he grabbed my arm, pulled me in close and kissed me so hard that my lips parted and he got my teeth. Once free from his grip and safely inside my vehicle, I heard the roar of his engine revving behind me. I quickly pulled away from the curb, happy to finally be on my way home.

... Years later, here I am at the same restaurant. We turned to thank Franco for picking up our tab, but he had already left. I looked up the street and saw a bright red Ferrari. He waved and then peeled off up the coast and into the sunset.

A Different Point of View

2010-03-31T20:07:00.000-07:00

I met Nick at a memorial service last October. He walked up to our group, just as a former co-worker asked me in an inappropriately loud voice, "Are you dating anyone now or are you still single?" I cringed. We were there to mourn the death of a friend, not talk about my dating life. "There's no good men in L.A.," she shouted again. "They all suck."

I turned to Nick and introduced myself. He worked in the entertainment industry, but was taking some time off to help kids in a third world country. We exchanged business cards, but I never heard from Nick until he started following my dating experiences online. We emailed back and forth a few times and then six weeks later, we met for drinks. He offered to write a piece for my blog, so I happily accepted. Here it is:

"These words, are truly, sincerely, really being written by a boy, mid-date with the infamous Carolyn. It's true.

In light of her entertaining blogs, I half-seriously offered to make a contribution from the male's perspective - even during the same night.

The glugs of Jack Daniels made me think this was a good idea, but honestly, I'm having my best (date) time in recent memory, and this exercise gave me extra time with her.

I knew Carolyn in a very quick and random way and although hopeful, could not bet the farm on this date -- I'm younger (and if the navy seal couldn't cut it...) jetlagged, just home from more than a month on the other side of the world, and well, whatever else... life. Sparks rarely fly, so the odds were against us.

This being my side of the story, I only get to speak for moi, a needy Cancer. I fished for some positive feedback throughout the night, as my own enthusiasm grew, but like a poker player at the final table, I could read little from Carolyn.

She kissed me back and I'm still sitting next to her. You would think that would be all I need to know, but strangely that's not the case.

On the page, and in person, Carolyn is what we all say we want-- smart, funny, soulful, and attractive -- that more or less is the magic combination, and in cities like LA, two out of three is a win. At 37, and never married, I'm now holding out for three or more, which leaves me with combinations like a Mensa member who volunteers a lot at the Laugh Factory, but looks like Harvey Keitel. I'd like to wait for all four, but that seems a distant dream with the sense of humor being the Lochness monster of the group -- often spotted from a distance but, in reality, only a rocky outcrop in the mist.

Along comes Carolyn and indeed she is all four. You'd think I'm a friend helping her out at this point by writing this, but no. It's the truth. For some reason, I love the idea of sharing this as it's happening, for better or worse -- either way you were here."

I read Nick's piece to my friend Ivan this morning, asking if he thought it was a good idea to post his very complimentary words online. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "I pay someone $800 a month to tell me how great I am. Post it."

Thank you Nick.

A Potpourri of Potential Paramours

2010-03-28T13:25:00.000-07:00

It's not every day I receive an email from an online dating site with multiple photos of a handsome, muscular guy in his underwear, swinging a tree branch on the beach... but "Jake" certainly put a smile on my face yesterday. His message read, "I found your profile interesting and would like to hear from you." Damn, this guy lives in New York. I wonder if he ever travels to Los Angeles?

Dating can be hard work. The amount of time that goes into booking a date can vary from one email exchange, to more than two weeks of emails, texts, phone calls and voice mails back and forth. Sometimes plans are made, then canceled and then made again. All this energy and effort to meet a total stranger who posted online what could be an outdated photo and his own personal, glowing written review.

Some of my friends, all of whom are in relationships, think making dates is really fun and easy. "Carolyn, why are you online? Meet someone organically. Go to parties." I do go to parties, but couples only know other couples and rarely invite attractive single men or women to their parties, since they are all married. Or, they invite one single guy and watch all night to see if any chemistry develops between us. I am constantly working, traveling and meeting new people and rarely connect with someone who isn't already married, or gay.

"Don't talk to guys for too long on the phone," said my friend Dennis, "I guarantee you they're watching a game, reading a magazine, or checking out more 'inventory' online, while you think they're getting to know you better." I had already discovered talking to guys on the phone for hours before meeting them, was a complete waste of time (I See You But You Don't See Me). There is no way to tell if there is chemistry between two people by talking on the phone. Our mental images, hopes and desires rarely measure up, to who shows up for the date. Not to mention, the anonymity of the phone is a free pass to divulge intimate information to a complete stranger, that you haven't even shared with your own closest friends.

A few seconds is usually enough time to reveal whether or not there is any chemistry. And, of course there are times when I have more of an attraction to him than he does with me, or the guy is more attracted to me and I'm planning my escape route.

Online dating connects me with many men who I would not typically meet. I generally receive 10-15 emails or 'winks' a day from men around the world. One guy sent me 5 photos of himself, all with his shirt off, making muscle man poses in different cities around the world. A 21 year old kid sent me multiple complimentary emails, so I wrote him back, thanking him, but stating that he was too young for me. He changed his age on his profile to 44 and continues to write. Other men pitch me story ideas. One guy from Belgium constantly 'winks' at me, but never writes anything. And many guys look like they spend way too much time at home alone, in front of their computers, posting photos taken on their cell phones, with their arms stretched out in front of them.

I recently read on someone's facebook page, "What you think about, you bring about". Have I not been thinking hard enough about who the right man is for me? Just then an email popped into my box. It was from "Jake" the guy on the beach in his underwear. "I'm relocating to your area at the end of May." Hmmm... maybe I have been thinking hard enough.

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

2010-03-23T07:39:00.001-07:00

"Your relationship with your father directly affects your decisions about your romantic partner," said James, a long-time friend who has been married for 35 years. "It's as simple as that and it's the most fucking complicated thing in the world," he continued. "Great," I thought, "I'm screwed".

In the 70s, cocktails swirled and emotions simmered just below the surface. Quiet lives of desperation were housed on every block, including ours. For better or worse, couples married young and discovered later if their decision was a life sentence.

For anyone on the outside, looking in, I had a decent childhood. We lived in a nice house in the suburbs of St. Louis. Money was tight, but I had my own room, my siblings and I went to private schools and there was always a box of Hamburger Helper in the cupboard. But, you know what you learn and I certainly didn't grow up learning what a loving, supportive relationship looks like in my dysfunctional family.

Dirty dishes and clothes piled high, as my mother sipped white wine, painted and listened to soap operas on TV. I imagine she suffered from depression, wondering how she went from a beautiful debutante and college co-ed to a mom with 6 kids and an unfaithful husband.

My father was really sarcastic. He came in with a smile and jabbed you with an insult. Sharpest tongue won in our family. It was every man for himself. We were trained to expose the weak spot, divide, go in for the kill, conquer.

Normal every day occurrences were land mines for emotional survival. Even the car ride to school could be an emotionally taxing ride. One particular morning when I was ten, I was running late, trying to straighten my frizzy hair. My dad was in the car with my siblings, honking the horn repeatedly. I lifted my head from the ironing table and unplugged the appliance. The horn blasted again. I ran through the kitchen to the back door, past my mother, who says without looking up from her fashion magazine, "Try putting on some lipstick."

As my dad sees me round the corner, he honks the horn again for emphasis. I cram into the back seat with my brothers. "All this time in the bathroom for that?" he shouts, angry for making him wait. "Great!" He throws the car into reverse and screeches out of the driveway. "I think you look pretty," says my oldest brother. "Don't lie to her," says the other. "Yeah, she might believe you!" chimes in my sister. My father turned around and smacked my brothers on their legs, "Shut up!" he says, "The world needs brains too."

Talking about men and failed relationships was easier to swallow eating Kaya toast and Thai rice noodles at The Street on Highland. James was giving me advice about how he has been able to keep his marriage going for 35 years. "You have to learn how to love and trust, especially if you didn't have that as a child."

I've spent my entire adulthood studying relationships and how to build one. I watch how couples respond to each other. All of my happily married friends had strong male role models in their life, and in most cases their own parents are still married. Love, support, trust and guidance was (and still is) a part of their lives. My friends Tom and Susan met each other later in life and I am constantly inspired by how lucky they feel to know each other. I hope one day to have that same experience. What a wonderful feeling it must be to have someone in the world who knows you deeply, understands your strengths and weaknesses, still loves you and wants to know you even deeper.

I thought about Mike (Fool Me Once) and I asked myself why am I trying so hard to get to know this person who doesn't want to be known? And then I realized he's emotionally unavailable for me just like my father was. On a subconscious level, I was familiar with this territory. What I grew up learning was seeking love, acceptance and understanding from a man who was incapable of giving it, and here I was falling right back into the same mode, reaching out to Mike for the same emotional connection I never received from my father. Hadn't I invested enough time and money in therapy over the years to have moved on from this shit? Am I really 44 and still dealing with father issues? Ugh...

If I didn't grow up learning what it's like to be in a loving, supportive relationship, I certainly wonder if I will ever be able to recognize a man capable of such a relationship.

If eyes are the window to the soul, then I will heed my friend's same advice he gave for me walking the red carpet, "Just keep your head up, and look into people's eyes."

I do not know if deep love is attainable for me, or if I find it, it will last 'until death do us part'. But what I do know is that I am willing to take that risk for as long as I am living on this planet.

Fool me once...

2010-03-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

Ugh... why did I fall for it again? I've been on a couple of dates recently, but I haven't met anyone I'm interested in and, since I've been working on a production, my work life has been really busy and stressful. So, late one night, when I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, I heard my cellphone beep with a text. I am not a fan of texting and I typically text only for work-related reasons, or to let someone know if I'm running late. So, I had a pretty good idea who was writing me this late at night. I saw Mike's name on the screen.

"What are you doing?" it read. I had finally gotten the 'idea' of Mike ("Dating Sucks") out of my system. I really liked him but he had flaked on me too many times. I didn't want to open that door again by returning his message so I didn't reply. He texted me again, "Oh, I see," he wrote. Really? Did he? I rolled over. Damnit, now I was wide awake and I knew I would not be falling asleep anytime soon.

I am compulsive about returning emails and texts, whether they are work related or personal. I am consistent in business, and with my close friends and with family members. I do what I say and my friends are the same way. We know we can count on each other. Our word is good. However, sometimes I forget that most people aren't wired the same way and that many people are inconsistent and flakey. I had grown accustomed to Mike's flakiness, and he was used to my consistency. So, when I stopped returning his texts, it didn't take him long to figure out I was pulling away.

The next morning Mike actually dialed 11 digits and called me (lol!). My friend Dennis was right. "If a guy is interested, I guarantee you, once you stop texting him, he'll call you." The only problem was I stopped texting Mike because he was all talk and no action. He was constantly pulling at my heart strings with his complimentary words, but consistently falling short on action :( But, I suspect he liked having me around. I am "the real deal," according to Mike, a honest counterpart he can trust vs. the superficial, materialistic world in which he skims along the surface.

"Did you meet someone?" Mike asked. What an odd question. This guy flaked on me half a dozen times. Why would he care if I met someone? "Here we go," I thought. Mike was toying with me again.

Dennis told me a couple of weeks ago, "Listen, Carolyn, if a guy wants to get to know you, tell him he can talk to you on the phone or make some time to see you in person. You can't get to know someone through text messages." Such a simple sentence that makes so much sense. I had been accommodating Mike's wishes and not being true to myself. When I asked Mike why he didn't like talking on the phone, he told me that he didn't like being in a position where someone could ask him a question he didn't want to answer. "I'm kind of a pussy that way," he said.

I was happy talking to Mike so another week of texting and late night conversations took place. I knew I was descending into what would certainly be disappointment for me again. But what if it wasn't? We made plans to get together yesterday, and as I was driving back to L.A. from Palm Desert Saturday afternoon, my cellphone beeped with three consecutive text messages. If Mike was consistent with one thing, that was flaking on plans. I didn't have to reach for my phone to actually read his texts to know he was canceling. When I arrived home three hours later, my thoughts were confirmed. The first message was him canceling, the second message was him apologizing and the third message was him saying he would call in 'a bit' to profusely apologize and that I can't dare be mad because he "kind of had no choice with this one." Btw... he never called... lol!

Any decent guy who needs to cancel plans would have picked up the phone, explained the situation and offered to arrange for another time. Easy. Everyone feels good. Done deal. But the self-described phone pussy clearly does not have the emotional maturity to discuss an easy matter over the phone.

Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Since Mike has been consistent in flaking on plans, I cannot possibly be mad at him for staying true to his own behavior. However, I am upset with myself for allowing myself to be in this same position yet again. I had given far more credit to Mike than he deserved. I was clearly looking in the wrong place for a mature relationship.

"Carolyn, love isn't perfect or easy," says my married friend Ivan, "You are eloquent and compassionate and charismatic, with the right values. Anyone who gets to grow old with you is lucky as hell... and because someone will". Now those are words based on a twenty year friendship that I can hold onto and thankfully, march forward. Thank you Ivan. I really needed to hear that. :) :) :)

Sushi in a Strip Mall

2010-03-13T14:18:00.000-08:00

My close friend Dennis asked me what I was doing last night. "I'm having dinner with a guy I met online." "Baby," he says, "why don't you get out more and meet people in real life?" I told Dennis that if I wasn't online then I would have had only one date last year. The only reason I went online was because I wasn't meeting any single men in Los Angeles. Guys always think it's so easy to meet single people in L.A. But where are they?

I met Dennis twenty years ago in a bar in New York. He owned a number of art galleries across the country and one night, when he was out with members of his staff, he made a bet that he could get a date with me. I knew what he was up to when he approached me because all his co-workers were watching his every move. We dated for a few months and have been friends ever since. Dennis was (and still is) a handsome man and is the consummate bachelor. He has dated more women than I could ever begin to count. So, he's constantly telling me what I'm doing wrong, what I should say and how I should act when guys ask me out.

"Go hang out at Whole Foods. I meet hot women there all the time." We have all heard the grocery store is a great place to meet single people, however my neighborhood Whole Foods is in the heart of West Hollywood, a predominately gay neighborhood. I grocery shop there all the time but have not once been approached by a guy. However, I meet hot women there too. I have been approached by gay women a number of times. One woman invited me for a drink at the Abbey, a well-known gay bar. For a brief moment, I contemplated her offer. She was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair, green eyes and full lips. If I ever went gay, it would have been with her.

"Where's he taking you?" Dennis asked. "Some sushi restaurant in Encino," I responded. Dennis scolded me, "He should be coming to your neighborhood. Why are you driving all the way to Encino?" Bob offered to come to my side of town, but we had decided on sushi and all the sushi restaurants I like are in the Valley, so I agreed to drive over the hill. Dennis knew the restaurant I was going to. "It's in a strip mall behind a Tony Roma's," he said, "What kind of guy would take you there?"

Frankly, when meeting someone for the first time, I would rather get coffee or a cocktail and not commit to dinner unless there is a second date. But it was Friday night, I was finishing up a very long, extremely stressful week, and was looking forward to a glass of sake. If I had an interesting conversation with the total stranger I met online, then I would consider the night successful-- I realize, at this moment, you are all thinking what a glamorous life I lead.

"You're doing everything wrong," said Dennis, "Rule number one, don't be too accommodating or guys will take advantage of you. I'm telling you this because I care about you. You're a catch. Make him work for you." Then Ivo told me I should never follow any rules. But isn't that a rule too? I just want to be myself. Isn't that enough? Yes, I am accommodating... this is true. I'm always trying to make everything easier for everyone else but, I get it. If a guy doesn't go out of his way for me in the beginning, then precedence is set... he never will. My head was spinning. I started my new dating 'adventure' only two months ago and I'm already sick of dating. According to Dennis, I'm doing everything wrong, which I can't argue with since I'm on my way to a strip mall to have dinner with a man I've never met.

Many of my friends have different opinions about whom I should be dating and how I should go about meeting men. But, right now, I would just like to meet a decent guy. "Ah, but Carolyn," says Ivo with a smile, "Men are not so important."

The Red Carpet Was Actually Blue

2010-03-06T19:51:00.000-08:00

I have never been nominated for anything before, so walking the red carpet (which was actually blue) at the 25th Annual Independent Spirit Awards was a whole new experience. We arrived at 5:15, were tense and anxious like everyone else, and had little idea what to really expect. We were instructed to walk to the far end of the tent where nominees were standing in line to enter. Thankfully, we spotted our publicist, Mickey, waiting to help maneuver us through the carpet experience. Whether you are attending or working the event, adrenaline is running high. Even with Mickey, we were anxious about making the long walk in front of press.

When you are a celebrity, the press shouts your name, hoping for an interview and the celebrity or their press agent decides whether or not you speak to them. However, when you are unknowns like we are, our publicists pitches our story to the press and they decide whether or not we are worth interviewing. Seeing the woman from AP shake her head 'no' could have been humiliating if there were not hundreds of other press people squeezed shoulder to shoulder for another 50 yards. Plus, we arrived way before all the celebrities did, so there were plenty more press pitches to be made, as journalists stood idly by, waiting for the famous to arrive.

A waiter walked by with a tray of Jameson cocktails. I grabbed a glass, swallowed a big gulp, and imagined my entire body taking a deep breath. We were very excited to be nominated and extremely grateful to be in the company of so many talented filmmakers, so I wanted try to relax, focus and remember the entire experience, rather than let my nerves get the best of me. One of my friends said, "Keep your head up and just look into people's eyes and into the camera and you will be fine." That was the best advice he could have given me.

We did interviews with Reuters, Canal Plus, George Penacchio, IFC and a few others before Vera Farmiga raced past us down the carpet. Hundreds of press and paparazzi were shouting her name, wanting her attention . She stopped and posed as they screamed at her, "Turn this way!" "Vera over here!!!" "Give us an over-the-shoulder!" "Turn around!" "VERA! VERA! VERA!!" I was frightened for her as she continued to pose and smile. If this is the kind of treatment actors face on the red carpet, I can only imagine how scary it must be when paparazzi approach them on the street, stick a camera in their face and shout questions, without the benefit of a rope and security holding them back.

We rode the elevator up to the roof (with Vera Farmiga) where the tent was set up for the main event. There were thousands of people mingling about, but my eyes were immediately drawn to two twin, bald security guys guarding a table where Sir Elton John was eating his dinner. Alan Cumming, Mia Wasikowska, the actor a.k.a. Jason Stackhouse, John Waters, Helen Mirren, Christopher Plummer and Olivia Wilde were all there. Seated at the table next to us was Anvil. If you haven't seen Anvil: The Story of Anvil, add it to your Netflix list. Lips Ludlow and Robb Reiner were the "demigods of Canadian metal" and had a hit album in 1982 with "Metal on Metal". They inspired a whole generation of heavy metal bands, but their career never took off. They've been chasing their dream ever since. Their friendship and passion for music is a sweet and inspiring story that will rock your socks off. They won best documentary.

As the ceremony was beginning to start, two cameramen approached and told us to stay put."Best First Feature" was the second award and they wanted to make sure we were on camera when they announced it. Every molecule in my body was vibrating. Three years of hard work and passion climaxing in this moment. We knew we were the underdog and had no chance of winning and that Jeff Bridges in "Crazy Heart" was considered the favorite. We watched as the trailers played for each movie, "Crazy Heart," "Paranormal Activity," "A Single Man," "The Messenger" and then... "Easier With Practice." Our names were on the screen. The camera flashed on me and Kyle for two seconds before they opened the envelope and announced "Crazy Heart" had won. I received 17 texts from friends saying, "We saw you on TV!" Jeff Bridges gave an amazingly heartfelt speech as I thought to myself, "He's perfect for one of the roles in our next movie. We have to make that happen."

We are the only movie in our category without a studio behind us. So, we had no domestic distributor, no team of executives, no marketing machine, and no money for prints and advertising. What that means is that Kyle, his partner Gary who created all our artwork, myself, a few others and Mickey were our 'studio'. Only a month ago, we were picking up the film trailers from Deluxe and driving them to the Sunset Laemmle and FedEx-ing them to the Quad in New York. Our mini 'studio' accomplished a phenomenal amount of work in a short amount of time-- so now we were all thinking... "We can finally move on to our next project."

We completed Easier With Practice over a year ago and were disappointed to learn that we did not get into any of the top film festivals including, Sundance, Berlin, South by Southwest, Tribeca or Venice in 2009. However, shortly after the Sundance announcements, Trevor Goth and Mike Plante, who produce Cinevegas, invited us to premiere at the Palms in June. We were really excited but we had six months to sit on our hands and wait. When you finish an independent film, the most important item on your list of things to do is have people see the film. So we kept ourselves busy by looking for a sales agent, investigating alternative ways of indie film distribution and anything else to make the time go by faster. Once Cinevegas came, we were excited to have a live, unbiased audience see the movie. Cinevegas was the beginning of an amazing year for "Easier With Practice" all culminating as it was released in L.A. and NYC last week and here we are at the Spirit Awards.

Halfway through the event, our sales agent arrived at our table and said, "Oh I finally found you." He introduced his handsome friend, "Carolyn this is Tom. Tom, Carolyn," as he pointed back and forth to the both of us, "Single. Single. 46. 44." Oh, if meeting available men could always be so easy.

A stage manager wearing a headset requested Kyle follow him backstage. Kyle was up for the "Someone to Watch" Award that comes with a $25,000 prize. Gary and I were hoping, praying that this meant he won the award, but for all we know, all three nominees had been taken back stage. Many of you know that I met Kyle when he was 23 and we were both working for Warren Beatty. It was only Kyle's second job since graduating from film school. Anyone who talks with Kyle for five minutes knows how smart he is, and how passionate he is about making movies. He knew more about film than many directors I had worked with over the years. So when he told me he wanted to make a movie by the time he was 25, I knew he would accomplish his dream. It was a happy day when the crew sang "Happy Birthday" to Kyle during principal photography on the set of "Easier With Practice" for his 25th birthday.

So, as John Waters and Olivia Wilde walked out on stage and announced Kyle as the winner of the "Someone to Watch" award, I felt so proud to see him accomplish so much in a few short years and now, finally everyone knew what we had all known for years... and that is that Kyle has a big career ahead of him. When he arrived back at the table, the other filmmakers sitting with us raised their glasses and said, "We've got a winner at our table! Cheers!" We all clinked our glasses and drank to the win. We were elated. What an amazing night...

"Enjoy it now because everyone will forget about the Spirit Awards once Sunday arrives for the Oscars," a film agent whispered in my ear. Such is Hollywood...

"The Emotional Rollercoaster of Dating" or... "Dating Sucks"

2010-02-28T09:30:00.000-08:00

Having embarked on my journey of 'positive attitude dating', I have to admit that it really sucks when you finally connect with someone and, for one reason or another, no relationship develops. Dating has become a numbers game for me. How many dates do I go on before I meet someone I like? And, when I finally connect with someone, how can I know if this is the beginning of a healthy, long-term relationship, or just a couple of dates that will suddenly turn south?

I met Mike three weeks ago. He was sweet, caring, funny, handsome and energetic. He reminded me of the boys I grew up with in St. Louis. He was the cool guy in high school with long blonde hair, who every girl wanted to date. He drove the black Trans Am with the gold eagle emblazoned on the hood, as "Rock and Roll All Nite" blared from the speakers. He was cozy with a hometown aesthetic. I laughed a lot with Mike, and when he wrapped his muscular arms around me, I relaxed into him, content to stay there forever.

I liked Mike. Thinking about him made my stressful life feel a little less stressful. My heart beat faster each time his name appeared on my cell phone. I was happy, and for the first time in a couple of years, I was willing to open my heart again. I started to feel a little less alone in the world.

My friends and business associates are accustomed to seeing me arrive solo for parties and events. So, the rare times when I actually bring a date, the poor guy is typically, mercilessly scrutinized. I have often fantasized about dating the 'perfect man' and not always being the third, fifth, seventh or ninth wheel at a dinner party. I imagine guests making comments like, "Oh, good thing Carolyn waited so long. Look at the wonderful man she met at this time in her life. They seem really happy. What a great couple." I imagined what they would say about Mike, if we dated long enough for me to introduce him into my circle of friends. I was hoping, praying that no red flags would rear their ugly heads in the meantime.

I have only known Mike for a few weeks, but, in between lengthy and intimate phone conversations, Mike has flaked on me a number of times. Some days I receive numerous texts and phone calls and other days he completely disappears, forgetting plans we made. He always apologizes and chalks it up to one particular drama he has in his life and has disclosed to me. I was unsure what to do, so I asked Ivo for a male perspective (realizing the fact that actually asking Ivo what all this meant was a big red flag in itself). "He's got you on the hook," Ivo said, "and he's leaving you dangle in the air." He was right. I exposed myself. Mike knew I was interested in him but he wasn't taking me off the hook, or throwing me back in the water. The 'skip in my step' was now a pit in my stomach. I was somewhere between heaven and hell. Was he blowing me off or was he just indecisive?

You would think by now that I would have some kind of radar for love. But everyone has their own language and some native tongues are harder to learn than others. I reflected on Mike's behavior over the past three weeks, what he told me about himself, about his past relationships and what I had surmised about him. He's introspective. I think Mike processes everything inside and has a hard time letting people into his life. His gregarious, charismatic personality is a cover for the tender, fragile heart that lies beneath. His sweet, but protected soul is hard to reach and get to know. I suspect he lives his life by going with the flow and letting things happen, rather than taking initiative. We are all works in progress, but I suspect Mike is more of a project. Whether my thoughts are right or wrong, when a man wants to see you, he will go to great lengths to make it happen, and I certainly wasn't hearing from Mike. Regardless, thinking of him still brings a smile to my face.

Writing this blog has really forced me to dig deep inside myself and discover what kind of relationship I really want. I dream of finding a partner with whom I can build a strong friendship and have the trust and love to jump into the abyss together and explore each other openly and honestly-- and discover all the deep, complex layers that make us unique human beings. A healthy emotional and intimate life is what I seek in a partner... and to finally know what it's like to have a loving partner and that we will always be there for each other.

So I have flung myself back into the dating pool and I will keep swimming upstream until another man casts a line in my direction and I take the bait. And, as daunting as dating can be, I will continue swimming until I will have no reason to continue writing this blog. I live for the day that I can write the words, "I met someone. Signing off..."

A Date With Rome (Part 1)

2010-02-21T18:43:00.001-08:00

When my last relationship ended, I was not excited about jumping back into the dating pool. I was 43, my self-esteem was low and my 'fat' jeans were feeling much too snug. I had also moved to 'Toluca Woods', which is the name realtors created for the less tony area north of Riverside Dr., above posh Toluca Lake, hoping to entice potential buyers to what's commonly known as 'North Hollywood'. "Carolyn, did you know North Hollywood has the most registered sex offenders in southern California?" asked my friend Mark. Great. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear, when moving into a new house in a strange neighborhood.

It was fall 2008, we had just finished the movie, the holidays were approaching and I had at least a month off to decompress. I curled up on the sofa, turned on the TV and caught an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the best-seller, "Eat, Pray, Love". I thought a book about healing from a failed relationship could be inspiring after an exhausting year.

I read the entire book in two days. The way Gilbert describes Rome and the people who inhabit the city was intoxicating. I impulsively logged onto the internet to find out how much a Roman holiday would cost me. A little adventure in an historic city with incredible art could kick start my personal life. For a mere $489 I could be wandering the cobblestone streets of Rome. However, since I work for myself and don't always know when the next job is coming, I contemplated whether I should save money and stay in my sex-offender-populated neighborhood, or fly to Italy?

Bleary-eyed from the long flight, I dropped my luggage off at my bed & breakfast, tucked away, off a side street. Then I found a little cafe on Piazza Venezia near San Marco, ordered a glass of wine and watched the people pass by. Rome was beautiful, vibrant and amazing. I met Paolo and Vicenzo there. Vicenzo was a bodyguard for one of the Superior Magistrates and was carrying a gun. He was very excited to discover I lived in L.A., which was the only city he had ever visited in the U.S. He spent a summer at UCLA learning how to speak English. "No one speak Italian in Los Angeles!" said Vincenzo with a very heavy accent, "They have no the patience with me when I practice the English."

Paolo drove the high judge's bullet-proof car and was the spitting image of Jean Reno. He said very little, as he inhaled deeply on an unfiltered cigarette. I spent about an hour with the two of them, discussing the best places to visit in Rome during my stay. The Colisseum was next on my list, so I thanked Vincenzo for unexpectedly picking up my lunch tab and headed toward the bus stop.

Paolo & Vicenzo quickly exchanged words, then Vincenzo said, "Wait here." The two of them disappeared around the corner. Moments later, an older model Fiat, with one-inch thick windows screeched to a halt in front of me. Paolo was behind the wheel and Vicenzo was riding shotgun. "Get in," he said, "we'll give you a ride to the Colisseum." "Vicenzo," I replied, "I am a female, traveling alone in a foreign country and you are asking me to get into a car with two men, who I just met." "I'll leave the windows down," he said. It took some manpower to roll down the thick, heavy windows, so I knew if I needed to get out, I probably could. "Not if the car was driving 80 m.p.h." my brother later pointed out.

The traffic was backed up for miles but it didn't matter. Paolo turned on the siren and drove fast down the wrong side of the street the entire way to the Colisseum. Opposing traffic quickly veered out of our way and I was delivered to the Colisseum in a matter of minutes. "Grazie mille," I said repeatedly as I exited the car. (Part II below)

A Date With Rome (Part 2)

2010-02-21T17:00:00.000-08:00

I awoke one morning and the rain was coming down hard. So I decided to travel to Naples and find the pizzeria that Elizabeth Gilbert described in her book. The train ride was 2-1/2 hours through beautiful countryside. As I looked out the window, I realized I had broken my promise to my good friend, Roberto, that I would not travel to Naples alone.

I exited the train at the station and found a much less rosy version of the city than what Gilbert described. Street urchins manned their posts, all eyes upon unsuspecting tourists. The expression "they'll steal the socks off your feet" originated in Naples. I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and held on tight, quickly maneuvering my way through the perimeter to a safer area.

I found a small shoe store with an elderly man sitting next to the register. He spoke no English and my Italian was poor, so he asked me to wait for a moment. I waited patiently for about 15 minutes until he said, "Uno momento," again. Finally an elderly woman came out from the back room and tried to understand where I wanted to go. After much gesturing between the two of us, she realized I was looking for Pizzeria da Michele. She hit the side of her head and rolled her eyes in astonishment that I had traveled so far for pizza around the corner from her store. She took my hand, and personally walked me up to the front door of Michele's. She wished me good luck and left.

It was 10:30 in the morning, so I easily found a seat and immediately ordered the double mozzarella, as Gilbert suggests. As I waited for the pizza, I realized I had absolutely nowhere to go. I had no hotel, no idea how to find one and the streets of Napoli were not so friendly. I wondered if I should just get back on the train and head back to Rome. I'm in Italy so I looked up at the ceiling and prayed, "please give me an answer as to what I should do next".

The pizza arrived on an enormous pan. "I'll never be able to finish this," I thought, but I dug in. The pizza was absolutely amazing, exactly as Gilbert describes. The juices and oils from the cheese settle in the middle, creating an astonishing mixture of aromatic and savory delights. The thin crust was perfection... crispy around the edges but doughy in the middle. I was completely in heaven as I devoured the entire pizza.

I didn't know the next time I would be in Naples, so I contemplated ordering another pizza as two young girls and a man entered and sat at the communal table next to me. I was relieved to hear them speak English. I listened for awhile before interjecting and asking where they were from. The two girls were exchange students from San Diego and Franco was the American Consulate in Naples. Who better to tell me where to stay and what to do than Franco? My prayers had been answered.

Franco hooked me up with a hotel on the ocean, overlooking the Old Spanish Castle. I spent a portion of the day at a museum and then wandered around the city. Later, I met Franco for dinner and we ate a classic Neapolitan, family owned restaurant. The mother cooked and her son just kept bringing one amazing dish after another until we said, "Basta". The next night we had sushi in a little restaurant, high up on a hill, with a hundred and eight degree view of Naples, which was breathtakingly beautiful. I was so happy to be out of Los Angeles with no cell phone, no text messages, no emails, no responsibilities and wanted this moment to last a very long time.

The next day, Franco had business in Rome, so I hitched a ride back with him. His parents were both Italian, but he was born in Southern California and was a USC Alum. I traveled all the way to Napoli and met someone who grew up about 5 miles from me in L.A. After one last evening together in Rome, we said goodbye.

I took one last walk around the city before heading to the airport. I noticed many people lining the streets and wondered what the excitement was all about. Up ahead, a parade of sorts with a man wearing a red suit, was being driven on what looked like a white sled. "It's Christmas time. It must be Santa Claus," I thought. Nope. It was the Pope!

When You Leave the Door Open... and He Slams It Shut

2010-02-15T07:30:00.000-08:00

I met Andrew online. He was warm, friendly and a straight-shooter. One of his rules was, "If you're not interested in someone you meet online, don't return their texts, emails or phone calls. It keeps the door open and leads the guy to believe he still has a chance. Trust me on this," Andrew said.

Really? If someone is terminally weird, I can see not returning a message. It seems kind of rude, though, if the guy is nice but just not the right guy for me. Why not be an adult and say, thanks but no thanks?

He was 53, and a divorced architect. At our first meeting, at the Coffee Bean, he was late showing up and was covered in mud from one of his job sites. But he was ruggedly handsome and easy to talk to, so I was interested in learning more.

He invited me to dinner the following Friday at Casa del Mar in Santa Monica. We sat at a table in front of tall windows overlooking the beach. He cleaned up nicely, looking handsome in jeans and a black, cashmere v-neck sweater.

His cell phone began ringing. It didn't stop ringing throughout the entire dinner. His sister called to chat and then his daughter, Julie phoned several times. For her 16th birthday, Andrew had arranged a weekend trip to Las Vegas, complete with Billy Joel concert tickets for her and her boyfriend, Ben. Kids from upper-middle-class families in Los Angeles lead extraordinary lives, I thought. When I was a kid, I got dinner at the local Italian restaurant, which included a slice of chocolate birthday cake with a sparkler.

Julie and Ben were driving up to Vegas this particular Friday night, but had been informed by friends that they might not be able to check into the hotel since neither one of them were 21. Andrew worked the phones, talking with the hotel clerks, and managers trying to get them registered. He apologized profusely between each call, explaining that this was an unusual instance.

I couldn't help but overhear the conversations Andrew had with his sister, his daughter and her boyfriend. I'm sure a lot of women would have quickly lost patience with him, but I was impressed by his calm, supportive manner. They looked to Andrew for advice and guidance and he was happy to be there for them. How different life must be if you can count on your father and know he'll be there for you, I thought. I could not imagine, back in the day, tracking my father to one of his haunts or heading to The Last Chance Saloon for a little paternal advice.

The next morning, on Valentine's Day, my phone beeped with a text, "Wanna go to Vegas today?"

Despite Andrew's efforts, Julie and Ben had been unable to check into their hotel, so Andrew had prevailed upon a childhood friend to put them up in his condo for the previous night. The friend, a comedian and an alum of Saturday Night Live, was a bit of a germaphobe and doesn't like people staying in his place," said Andrew, "so I convinced him it would only be for one night." We were flying to Vegas so Andrew could check the kids into their hotel, then planned on flying back to L.A. that same day. He picked me up on the way to the Burbank airport.

As we approached our gate, the ground crew shut the door to the causeway. We'd missed our flight by 30 seconds. The next flight wasn't for a few hours so we passed the time getting to know each other better. We started comparing tunes on our iphones and by the time the jet was taxiing for departure, had progressed to our 'worst relationships ever'.

We met Julie and her boyfriend, Ben, at the Venetian front desk. Ben has his own band whose songs were already getting airplay on college stations and they were close to signing a label. Julie was beautiful and examined me from head-to-toe, curious who I was, accompanying her father to Vegas. I hoped I was cool enough in her eyes to get the thumbs up. Meeting someone's kids for the first time is always nerve racking. Not to mention, if you get the kids' approval, dating their dad can be a lot less challenging.

By the time Andrew got them checked in, we found out that there were no seats left on flights back to L.A. And, since it was Valentine's Day, all the hotels were booked up too. We tried every viable option, including towns outside of Vegas, but nothing was available. Other than sleeping at the airport, there was nowhere to go. So Andrew called his germaphobe friend again. I didn't hear the conversation, but gathered it took some convincing on Andrew's part to get the condo again for another night.

Yes, it was a bit awkward spending the night in close proximity to someone I had just met, but being the good sport, I went with the flow. What else could I have done? We stopped for toiletries. Damn, why didn't I bring my makeup bag? Well, at least I had my sunglasses for the early morning Vegas sun.

Back in L.A., Andrew and I continued to see each other. He made dinner for me one night. I joined his office's Oscar pool (and failed miserably). He indicated he was ready to move our relationship ahead to the next level. And then - nothing. I never heard from him again.

I went over everything in my mnd. I was surprised, but not devastated. But why the cut? I thought it had all been good. I called my psychic friend, Bill Burns, who is amazingly accurate at zeroing in on personalities. If you give him a name and/or a photo, he can tell you all about a person and why a relationship may or may not work out with someone.

"He has intimacy issues" Bill quickly said, "Well he doesn't really. It's all in his head, but he doesn't realize that. You need somebody who will always be there for you. He isn't 'it'. Better you know now, than six months down the road." What Bill said seemed entirely possible. I will probably never know if he was ultimately right or wrong, but it was enough information to stop obsessing about what happened, chalk it up to another dating experience and just move on.

Four months later, I was traveling back to the Palms for "Easier With Practice's" premiere at Cinevegas. In the cab from the airport, I texted Andrew, "We arrived in Vegas for the film festival today and are staying at the Palms. Couldn't help thinking about our weekend adventure. Hope you and your kids are doing well :)"

Adhering to his own rule, I knew he wouldn't reply to my text, but I hoped it would, at the very least, make him smile.

A Date With "Rock Star"

2010-02-09T17:11:00.000-08:00

His email said, "OK OK Finally, a profile I like! :) Before I sound like a book, please take a look at my profile. If you like what you see and read, I would love to talk". I clicked on "Marc's" profile and thought, "Oh. My. God. You have got to be kidding me!" I could never go out with a guy like this. I declined and did not return his email. A day went by and he sent another, "You are so beautiful it isn't even funny. Love the hair! I would love for you to take a look at my profile, let me know if you would be up for conversation... and you work with nonprofits, me too." OK, what woman doesn't love to hear a man call her beautiful, and this guy was being persistent. I clicked on his profile again and looked at all the glitzy photos and wondered if I could actually go through with meeting someone like Marc. I had no idea who this guy could be. There are a lot of weirdos in L.A. and he could easily be one of them.

I was never into musicians either. I dated plenty of bad boys in my 20s, so why go there again at this point in my life? Not to mention he's eight years younger than me. I am typically attracted to men my age, or older. I once dated a navy seal when I was 38 and he was 27. I was constantly doing the math in my head... when I'm 50, he'll be 39. Great, I'll be disintegrating just as he's coming into his prime. It's hard enough living in a city where 50 year-old men marry twenty-somethings, so why start off with such a big handicap?

My friend Ivo came over and I showed him all the men who had emailed, winked or added me to their favorites on this dating site. I asked him to pick out the men he thought I should pursue. I had not chosen so well for myself in the past and thought that maybe a male perspective could steer me in the right direction. He studied all the pictures and read all the emails. He weeded through them pretty quickly and narrowed his choices down to two men: a tall Latino guy named Rio... and Marc. Just then, as if on cue, another email from Marc popped into my box, "I know you're thinking about it. Come on... you're close. Let's meet for coffee." Ivo and I burst out laughing. How could I not meet this guy?

"He's got something going on," said Ivo. "That attitude at his age means the guy has security about himself, he knows who he is and that's his dream and he's living it." Ivo's words rang true. I am always saying I want to meet a man who knows who he is and has a good sense of humor. I just never thought he would come in a package like Marc.

We met for coffee at Urth cafe. I found him sitting at a small table, patiently looking around and waiting. He has a really nice face, I thought. It took about 5 minutes to realize Marc is a very sweet, smart and hilariously funny guy. He's from a small town in upstate New York, lived in Chicago for many years and moved to southern California only 2 years ago. He has been experiencing what most people go through when first moving to L.A. and that is... it's hard to find good, quality friends here.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and he had a party to go to and I had another date. Marc asked me where I was going and, since I'm not a good liar, I told him I was meeting another man from the same site. "He was really arrogant on the phone, so I'm not expecting too much," I said.

On the surface, Rio was more my type than Marc. He was tall, dark and handsome... but then again, Marc was tall, his hair is naturally brown under all that blonde hair, and he was surprisingly handsome.

I drove over the hill to Studio City to meet Rio. We met outside of Jamba Juice and I listened to Rio talk for quite some time. He's a photographer, a healer, a filmmaker, an editor, an artist and I think he also said a horse handler. He was an odd mix of arrogance and insecurity. If put to the test, I could tell you many fascinating details about Rio's life (such as why he's currently prohibited by the government from traveling outside of the country) but he probably couldn't even tell you my last name.

After 90 minutes, I left and, as I was driving home, I received a text from Marc. "Do tell. Was he arrogant? Were you right?" I thought it would be tacky to repeat anything Rio said, but one comment he made stood out in my mind, so I texted Marc back, "He and Freud think a lot alike". Marc responded, "Lol... That just made me spit out my coke".

I liked Marc but my friend Joan asked me how I could take anybody seriously who legally changed his name to "Rock Star". Yes, Marc showed me his California driver's license and his name had legally been changed. I had to admit it seemed a little odd, but Marc and his identical, twin brother (legal name "Super Star") run a nonprofit in Chicago called We Are One, that helps get kids off of drugs. They recently completed a CD with some famous musicians to help raise money and the name change is part of their marketing ploy. However, my male friends were much more accepting. I showed the picture to my friend Chris in Scotland who said, "Cooks, that is the single greatest photo I've ever seen!!!!! Where can I get one of those guitars?" I realized Marc's not only living his own dream, but the dream of pretty much every guy I know... and in the world. "I can't believe no one did it before me," stated Marc. I agreed.

The whole thing is kind of crazy but there are many things about Marc I like, and his energy just makes me smile.

"I See You, But You Don't See Me"

2010-02-05T11:22:00.000-08:00

"I See You, But You Don't See Me" is what Steve, the self-described "Jewish Richard Gere," texted me while I was trying to spot him at United's baggage claim. Bad sign, I thought. I'm really good at spotting people in a crowd, but I guessed he probably didn't look much like his profile pic on Millionaire Match. An uneasy feeling grew in my stomach. I wondered why I had been driving my car around LAX, picking up a total stranger in the first place.

My girlfriend Sandy called, asking if there was any chemistry between me and Steve. "I don't know yet," I said, "I haven't seen him. United lost his bag, so I have to keep driving around the airport until they find it," I told her. "You're picking him up Carolyn?" she exclaimed, "The kind of guy you want to meet, is the kind of guy who gets his own car and picks you up". She was right. I shouldn't be picking up random strangers at LAX, who I met online.

This was the first time any man had flown to L.A. for the sole purpose of meeting me, so I didn't know what the proper etiquette was. I figured if a guy was buying a plane ticket and booking a hotel room, the least I could do was pick him up. Steve never mentioned getting a rental car and had always assumed I would pick him up anyway. His email had said, "So.....How do you want to arrange the airport? Curbside? Meet me at the gate with flowers and...dark chocolate (my favorite), marching band (a little too much maybe)?" his 'humor' foreshadowing a potentially tragic weekend, I thought.

Ten minutes went by. Another text appeared. "I am ready for a cocktail now." Hallelujah! Surely this was code that Steve's luggage was found and I was closer to a stiff martini (or four). I pulled up to baggage claim, but still no sign of Steve. I texted him, asking where he was. "Still waiting for my luggage," he wrote back. Oy vey... this "Jewish Richard Gere" better be great.

Uh oh, he's reading my mind, I thought as I read his next text. "I'm worth it," he wrote. The traffic cop flashed his light on me yet again, and motioned me to move on. I found a place to pull over and park. I sat quietly for a few moments, took a deep breath and told myself that everything was going to be ok. Maybe the recent corny emails and texts were because Steve was nervous to meet me too. And I was going to do my best to have a positive attitude and a nice evening.

"You miss me?" he asked. I had not noticed a tall, lone figure approach my car. Steve leaned in my window (a little too close for my taste) and took my hand. I looked at him. Steve said he was 55, but I thought he was 60 and looked nothing like Richard Gere. He wore business slacks, a grey henley under a black v-neck sweater, a blousy tan jacket and thick soled Florsheim's. His clothes were baggy, most likely hiding an out-of-shape physique. Steve got in and buckled his seatbelt. I wanted double olives in that martini.

I have a strange man in my car. I am not initially attracted to him and I'm supposed to entertain him tonight and tomorrow.

As we drove along, I found myself working really hard to have a pleasant conversation. We made it to Cecconi's, one of my favorite restaurants in L.A., in record time. I ordered a sour apple martini and wondered if they offered it intravenously. He ordered a kamikaze and took careful sips. He was hungry and ordered the eggplant parmesan. He took a bite and said, "Oh this is good, you've got to try this" insisting on feeding me. As the spoon neared my face, sauce dripped off the sides, landing on my jeans.

How was I going to spend the whole next day with this guy? I waited for the alcohol to take effect. I ordered another and tried to remember what we had in common and what originally drew us together.

We both had reached out, looking for a connection that could possibly lead to a nurturing, long-term relationship. We each had made significant arrangements to finally be sitting next to each, after our initial contact one week prior. "Chemistry" I thought, "you're an elusive beast." Steve reached over and put his arm around my waist. I then watched his hand as it slid down my hip onto my thigh. He was testing the water and I wasn't jumping in.

The next morning I picked Steve up from his hotel and drove to the beach for brunch. "Did you want to get coffee on the way," I asked. "No, thanks. I had chamomile tea. I have so much energy, I didn't want to be too much for you today." Steve often spoke of his athletic prowess and high energy, but I didn't see it.

Once at the restaurant, we had a pretty interesting conversation about our families. But, he started repeating some of the same stories he had told me on the phone. "Yeah, I remember that story. You told me that one on the phone." I said. "Well, maybe I did tell you that story, but I didn't tell you the part about the encyclopedias. That part was new." "Oh, right, tell me more." Is it noon yet?

After brunch, we decided to go back to Hollywood and see a movie. As I was driving through the Wilshire corridor, Steve mentioned that this was the area where one of the women he previously met online lived. She had invited him back to spend the night at her condo, even though, according to him, she was bitchy to him during their date. "I turned her down," he said. I wasn't completely sure of his purpose in telling me this. "Is this the woman who didn't want you touching her $2,500 golf bag or the one who wasn't happy you showed up wearing Birkenstocks?" I asked.

At dinner that night Steve asked me how he thought our date was going. I reviewed his qualities in my head. He was nice guy and he was very pleasant. He was a gentleman and he was also somebody's father. I wanted to be honest with him in a respectful way. I told Steve that he was very easy to talk to, and that I had had a nice time with him, but ultimately I didn't feel any chemistry with him. "Ok," he replied. "So where do we go from here?"

Sometimes I Wonder if there's Something Wrong With You...

2010-02-02T17:55:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with you that I don't know about since you're still single," said Peter. I was hurt by his comment since I've known him for ten years and we've had many honest conversations about relationships. Not to mention, I have spent countless hours listening to his various marital problems. "Would you consider me normal if I was in an unhappy marriage like yours?" I replied. "Good point," he admitted. "Sorry."

Since I have never married, the question I am often asked is, "Do you think you're afraid to commit?" I didn't think so, but honestly, I don't know. Maybe I am afraid to commit, or maybe I just haven't met the right guy yet. Admittedly, now that I'm getting older (and my life span shorter) committing to someone for the 'rest of my life' doesn't seem so daunting. "How will I ever know if I'm truly in love, and with the right man?" My sister-in-law told me once "well, you just know when you know, and I knew with your brother." They were were married for 14 years before they divorced.

I wondered if maybe I had passed up an opportunity to marry a good man. I thought back over the handful of relationships I had early in my dating career. My very first was "Rick". He frequented the restaurant, where I worked as a hostess during my senior year of high school. It was a conservative eatery where the pudgy manager often rolled his eyes when I wore outfits he thought too fashion-forward for conservative St. Louis. He threatened to make me a busboy once, when I wore a black Norma Kamali sweetheart top, white pleated skirt and red stiletto pumps (topped off with big 80s hair and jewelry). However, it was this particular outfit that captured Rick's attention.

Rick was 25, divorced, had thick auburn hair, not much of a chin and a big nose. Frankly, he looked like a totally buff, but younger Barry Manilow. He sat at the bar each night, stealing glances each time I passed. I could feel his eyes on me and I liked it. I was 18, a virgin, and my hormones were raging. I fantasized about him seducing me... his breath on the back of my neck as his hands grabbed my waist and pulled me in close, kissing me deeply, just like a bad romance novel. "That will be $18.75," I said to a father paying the dinner tab, eyes half-mast, jarred out of my fantasy. Dreaming of Rick seducing me made tedious work hours tick by.

After a week of unrequited desire, I approached Rick and asked if he would like to take me out sometime. Two nights later we had many drinks and ended up on the floor in his office, narrowly escaping a security guard doing his rounds. I was nervous as he looked deep into my eyes and took me. The next day, Rick sent flowers to work with a card that read "thank you". The waiters gave a nod by leaving a small dish of maraschino cherries on the hostess stand. I never saw Rick again... end of trashy romance novel.

Next was Pat, a big drinker, pot head and failed screenwriter I met in NY in my early 20s. He was my roommate for 6 months before he wore me down into being his girlfriend. Our relationship ended after I hit the redial button on the phone, thinking I was dialing my mother and, instead got an answering machine with a young, female voice talking in a thick Chinese accent, "Hello, me not home right now (giggle) peas leave message and I call you sweetie". I didn't think much of it at first, but then came home the next day, the day after that and the next and was greeted by the same message each time I checked the redial function. I wasn't sure if Pat had another girlfriend or was seeing a prostitute. I didn't stick around to find out.

Then there was Tom, who was on the cover of TV Guide as one of the "Hunks of Hollywood" during the late '70s. He had been on a huge hit TV show, but was now doing musicals on Broadway and recording a country album with his band. We dated for a year and I was the love interest in one of his music videos. But, while he was on the road touring with his band, he got some girl pregnant, married her and didn't tell me, until she was nearly in labor.

"Maybe you're just too picky," said an unpleasant woman recently at a dinner party, who is married to a drab man with deep pockets. Well, shouldn't I be picky if I'm looking for a man to spend the rest of my life with?

Maybe there is something wrong with me, but for two hearts to want the same thing, and follow the same path is truly a miracle. I can't just make that happen. However... I do dream of having a relationship with a man, that no matter how much or how little we have, we still have each other.

(Part 1) It's An Odd Feeling When A Date You Don't Know Cancels

2010-01-28T07:56:00.000-08:00

I started online dating again. In the past, I was on Match and, with the exception of a few guys, I met a lot of... characters. None of the men looked like their pictures and two showed up wearing Hawaiian shirts. I try to experience every date like a new adventure, but the guys I met on that site had to be the most lackluster men in L.A. I remember meeting Larry, a real estate insurance claims investigator, at his favorite chain restaurant (this last sentence would have been more than enough warning for any woman not to go). I stared into my glass of bad red wine, trying to visualize where all the exits were located. Maybe during his long pontification, I could sneak out undetected through the side door. But no, I was sentenced to two hours before he took a breath, and I could interject to say my parking meter had surely run out.

I tried eHarmony too and met one very smart, interesting man. My initial impression of Mark was that he was gay. He worked in publishing, looked about 50, was dressed nicely but just seemed to be more effeminate than any straight man should be. He was also the ex-husband of a very wealthy woman, who is a friend of my former boss... which made me feel immediately insecure because she makes 100 times more money than I do. We sat at the bar and talked for two hours and never experienced a pregnant pause. But, it was getting late and, although I enjoyed my time with Mark, I did not have any romantic interest in him, and I suspected he felt the same way toward me. As I thanked him for the drinks and stood up from my barstool, he took particular notice of my footwear and complimented me, "Those are beautiful shoes you have on," he said. I was wearing a pair of Pradas I purchased at the end-of-a-season sale from Neiman Marcus 5 years ago, and realized Mark probably already knew that.

If I never went on another dating site in my life, I could die a happy woman. But I had lunch with a business associate last week who mentioned his son met "a really fantastic girl" on "Millionaire Match". "They've been dating for over a year," he said. I had checked out Millionaire Match in the past but felt artificial trying to find a man based solely on his net worth. However, you don't have to be a millionaire to be on the site and, in order to write about dating, I have to actually go out on a few dates, so I pulled up the website and joined.

The next morning I had multiple emails in my inbox from potential suitors. The first guy I clicked on had put me in his 'favorite' box. He was nice looking, so I read his profile and thought that we had common values and interests. I sent him a brief email. He called me later that night and I immediately liked the sound of his voice, which was kind and soulful. Our conversation lasted for a couple of hours, covering a lot of personal ground. The anonymity of a few photos and a phone provided free license for an open and honest conversation with a total stranger. Closely examining Steve's picture, he told me that he was often referred to as the 'Jewish Richard Gere,' which is ironic since people tell me I look like Julia Roberts because of her big, red curly hair in "Pretty Woman" (and I'm friends with the "Latino Richard Gere"). Steve's a native New Yorker from a prominent family, who now lives in a small town in Northern California-- 374 miles away, according to Millionaire Match.

Other notable emails included a dinner invitation from a 6'6" Yugoslavian man in Santa Monica, WHO TYPED ALL IN CAPS. Six feet, six inches, is really tall. "Oxygen doesn't travel to the brain the same way when you're that tall," noted a male friend. "I'd be careful with that one." A very handsome Italian man in San Diego sent me an email that said, "I don't like name Carolyn, I'm calling Carmela". I thought he was making some obscure reference to "The Sopranos," but no, he just didn't like my name Carolyn and was calling me Carmela. The last email from him that I read said, "Can u make me a star like clooney status???? Lol". (Part 2 continued below...)

(Part 2) It's An Odd Feeling When A Date You Don't Know Cancels

2010-01-28T07:36:00.000-08:00

I also received an email from a "75% Italian and 25% Persian" Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, whose specialties are noses and boobs. Danny's profile said he was 40, but he looked more like 50. He emailed me his phone number and wrote "call me". However, my own experience has proven that I have much better luck when a guy is pursuing me, so I emailed him back with my number instead. "How much do you weigh?" he immediately asked. "138," I responded. I weighed myself that morning and knew I was 141, but "130-something" sounds much better than "140-something" so I lied about 3 pounds. "Have you ever had any work done?" "No," I said. I understand the attraction to plastic surgery, however needles, botox and cutting flesh scare me. He directed me to his website to prove he was really a surgeon. There were 'before' and 'after' pictures posted of a nose job and a breast enhancement. I have to admit the new boobs looked really natural. "Would you ever have yours done?" he asked. "I like my breasts," I said, "So, no, I would not 'enhance' them". Was he looking for a date or more clients?

Our superficial conversation carried on for about 15 minutes. He told me that he had only met two women from the site. The first 'woman' he met actually turned out to be a man and the second woman was 200 pounds heavier than the picture she emailed him, which is why I didn't take offense to his pointed questioning. However, since he was being blunt, I also took liberty. "You look older than 40 and you sound tired," "That's because I haven't slept in 9 years," he responded. "Everyone thinks I'm older because most of my friends are doctors in their 60s." He then asked if I drank and what kind of alcohol I prefer. Red wine or vodka are my typical choices. "What about tequila?" "Yeah, tequila's ok," I answered. "We should get along just fine." he said. I didn't feel like I had much in common with Danny, but I didn't know anyone like him and thought dinner could be an interesting and colorful experience. I agreed to meet him later, after his soccer game. "What are you going to wear?" Ballsy question, but clearly he was gunshy from his two prior, shocking experiences. "A black dress and heels," "What length?" he inquired. "To the knee," I replied. "I like black," he stated, "Now it's your turn to ask me questions." I didn't need to. I knew more than enough.

A few hours later, Danny called. We talked for a bit about his soccer game, before he said he was really tired and just wanted to get home, shower and go to bed. He cancelled... After 9 years, he finally wanted to go to sleep. I had rearranged plans to accommodate dinner with him. It was an odd feeling to have a date with someone I didn't even know, cancel on me. He asked if we could reschedule next weekend. "Can't. I have a friend coming into town."

So here I was on a Saturday night, content watching the SAG Awards (I wanted Jeremy Renner to win for THE HURT LOCKER!) when I received an email from Steve that said "... stop looking at all those boys online, you have a date!!!" My 'friend' coming into town next weekend is Steve, the Jewish Richard Gere. He booked a hotel room and a ticket to L.A. Yikes... I hope we have the same chemistry in person that we have on the phone.

"You're Like A Dude With Boobs..."

2010-01-26T16:05:00.000-08:00

...said David, "and I mean that as a compliment." I was in Salt Lake City with David, Kyle and Bob. We had just wrapped a shoot and were eating and drinking at an Italian restaurant, before catching our plane back to Los Angeles. I accepted what David said as a compliment, but then wondered ultimately if I had lost my femininity around men. I grew up with three brothers, I work in a male-dominated industry, my friends are mostly men, and I enjoy the company of men. I'm around men 24/7, yet I'm single and date infrequently. Have I become too much like one of the guys that men aren't interested in me as a woman anymore?

"If I keep eating this way, I'm going to look like a dude with boobs," exclaimed Bob. I laughed as I contemplated my predicament.

My insecurities rose to the surface. Do I need to be more feminine? Should I change my wardrobe? Let's face it, working in independent film and on nonprofit videos, doesn't leave me with much discretionary income for clothing. Teenagers in Los Angeles have a better wardrobe than I do. Maybe I need to dress sexier. Hmm.

Yesterday, I met Tom Ford at the Spirit Awards brunch. I introduced myself and told him our movies were nominated in the same category. I was quite taken by how exceptionally polished and handsome he is up close. Most celebrities look quite different in person, but Tom Ford, wearing his signature sunglasses, could have walked right out of a color, glossy, high-fashion magazine ad. Not a whisker was out of place. He's undeniably handsome and has a movie star look. (I predict Tom Ford will be starring in his own next film). A photographer approached us, asking to take our picture, so we turned and I placed my hand on the back of his 'Tom Ford' jacket. "Oooh, cashmere" I cooed. "This is the most casual outfit I have," he said. "Really?" I said, "This is the most dressed up I get." "No, I do have jeans," he corrected before he graciously exited. I began to assess my own outfit: my favorite J Brand jeans, Zara jacket, Hugo Boss white-collared shirt and Charles David shoes. Oh god, did I really just introduce myself to Tom Ford looking like this? I quickly reassessed the room of independent filmmakers and took solace in the fact that ok, I think I fit in just fine with everyone else.

Slightly frantic however, I called my brother Leo and asked him if he thought it was bad to be called 'a dude with boobs'. "Well, I don't think it's good," he said, "Objectively speaking, you're pretty and sexy so that's not an issue. But you 'don't suffer fools gladly' and men don't want someone to call them on their bullshit." He's right, I thought. And working in the entertainment industry for the past 20 years, certainly hasn't made me any softer. I contemplated a past relationship. My biggest problem with Kent was that he never dealt with any of his own personal issues. He literally and figuratively swept everything under the rug. It was hard for me to respect a man who wasted opportunities to learn and grow. But, at the very least, I knew after speaking with my brother, that my problem wasn't with my wardrobe.

"Men like that moment of surrender,'' said Ivan, a friend of mine for ages, "That's what it's all about, that moment when the woman surrenders to you". I understood immediately. I know the moment he described and any woman who has ever read a romance novel knows that moment too. Many women's fantasy is to be seduced and eventually succumb to their ideal man. I am no different. But, how could I ever 'succumb' and be 'conquered' if I was considered to be one of the guys?

I did not know where to turn for an answer so I decided to call David and ask him to explain exactly what he meant. "You are very comfortable hanging out with men and can laugh at the same stupid things guys laugh at without acting superior like some women do, especially when it gets really raunchy." Ok, but I asked him if I lost my femininity in the process? "No, Carolyn, besides having red hair, you're a ball of fire," he stated, "You're smart, in touch with your emotions, honest, tall, have long arms..." My confidence was coming back (but is having long arms a good thing? "...but men are fearful of these things and because you are powerful, I think you scare guys off." Oof. I have heard this before... many times. I was sinking back into insecurity. But what do I do? If I had the answer, I wouldn't be writing about my experiences looking for a meaningful relationship in Los Angeles. But what I do know is my life would be a lot less rich if I didn't know all the men who are in my life-- including David who has an amazing wife and kids, is very close to his mother, easy to talk with and completely comfortable around women. As a matter of fact, I thought, David, you're just like a "chick with a penis."

Never Bring a Handsome Man to an Event with Single Men...

2010-01-19T17:01:00.000-08:00

...I learned this very important lesson last night. Never be with a handsome man when you're trying to meet single guys. Maybe you already know this (clearly I wasn't thinking) but men lose interest if you are with someone better looking than they are. A client kindly invited me and a guest to a fundraising dinner where one of the videos I produced was being shown to the audience. This particular nonprofit provides free legal services to the underprivileged in Los Angeles and many of their clients are Hispanic. I invited my friend Ivo to join, because he had translated all the Spanish interviews during production and I thought he would be interested in seeing the finished product. There were approximately 950 people attending, mostly attorneys, mostly men and many of them single. I was looking forward to attending.

Once I arrived, I ordered a glass of red wine to help take the edge off of my busy day and feel more confident talking with random strangers. I walked around the crowded room, and came upon three attractive men, who were all probably mid 40s and single (i.e. they weren't wearing wedding rings). They happened to glance over and, as I started to smile, I noticed that any glint of interest, or hint of a smile faded, as Ivo approached from behind me and stood by my side. What was I thinking?! Ivo is an exceptionally handsome man. He is from Argentina, a famous telenovela actor and was in PEOPLE Magazine a handful of years ago as the "Latino Richard Gere". What man in his right mind would approach me to talk if I'm with one of the most handsome men on the planet? Right! And no one did!

I've known Ivo for 7 years and have witnessed women fly across the room, shove me in the chest and stomp on my foot in order to get close to him. He has that charisma that has brought him just as much heartache and pain, as joy to his life. So, what did I do since I was interested in meeting single men but I am with one of the most handsome men in the world? Am I an idiot? Here I am with one of the most handsome men in the world, watching a video I produced on a big screen in front of many people. It was an amazing evening and it was nice to be able to share that experience with one of my closest friends.

What is the Most Important Trait You Look For in a Man?

2010-01-19T16:06:00.000-08:00

Intellectual compatibility is at the top of my list. But I'm not deluding myself into thinking that's what men look for in women.

You know when you see those couples sitting across from one another where the guy is far from good-looking and the woman is outrageously gorgeous, and she's going on and on about whatever-it-is-that-she's-going-on-and-on-about and the guy is eating his food, completely drowning out the sound of her voice, wishing he was somewhere else? Clearly, there is no intellectual compatibility happening here and I wonder if the beautiful girlfriend, sex and credit card bills are worth the sound of her voice and intellectual incapacity.

I had an experience last year with my own "blonde" scenario. He was brunette actually, from Brazil, a trainer and aspiring musician, who I will call Leonardo. Leonardo and his American friend, Mike, were standing behind me at a Cost Plus World Market, as I was pricing rugs. I happened to turn quickly and caught them looking at me. This doesn't usually happen, so I wasn't sure exactly what it was they were doing. But Leonardo copped to the fact that he had seen my red hair from across the parking lot and dragged his friend with him into the store to check me out closer. Most guys wouldn't give you this information because they would try to play it cool, which is why Mike said, "Dude, don't tell her that." I laughed. Clearly, Leonardo wore his heart on his sleeve and that was ok with me.

He was dark and handsome with a Brazilian accent and an awesome body. Mike did most of the talking, while Leonardo nodded and chimed in words here or there. Somehow we got on the discussion of kids and I said I did not have any kids, nor did I have plans to bring any more children into this world. Leonardo said, 'But if you got pregnant, then you would have a kid right?" My first thought was, at 44, it would be difficult for me to just 'get pregnant' without lots of doctors, test tubes and artificial insemination, and this is a road I have no desire to go down. When I'm 50, I want to be traveling around the world and be living a leisurely lifestyle, not driving my kid to soccer practice. My second thought was, this guy is already thinking about poking holes in the condom, and getting me pregnant-- and I don't even know his last name.

It had been quite some time since any stranger approached me and asked me out on a date. So I gave Leonardo my number, which he promptly punched into his cell phone. Mike told him to dial me and make sure I gave him my correct number. He didn't. He already knew I did and he was right. Leonardo was definitely more trusting and trustworthy than Mike.

We met for lunch a few days later and walked around the Grove in Los Angeles. We went into a Barnes & Noble and I followed Leonardo to the metaphysical section. He knew right where the "Birthday Book" was and took it off the shelf so we could read how our relationship might work out. We were no match made in heaven according to the book, but mostly because Leonardo had not remembered my birth date correctly. We made the adjustment and discovered we would still need to work really hard to make our relationship last. I thought it was funny but Leonardo took this information to heart.

We dated briefly and, honestly, there wasn't much talking happening. I had not been seeing anyone for quite some time so the sexual activity was welcome. The only problem was I couldn't have an intellectual conversation with Leonardo. He was quite knowledgeable of nutrition and training the physical body, but we couldn't connect much past those two topics, or him talking about wanting to get back into music business again. (Apparently Leonardo was in a famous 80s Brazilian band that had a hit song-- think Flock of Seagulls, but with dark hair). I found myself sitting across the table from him, drowning out his voice and wishing I was somewhere else.

One night he wanted me to try his favorite pizza from a Bossa Nova. We conversed on the phone for about 7 minutes discussing how he would pick up the pizza, and I would make the salad and buy a bottle of wine-- a conversation that should really only take about 30 seconds. We went back and forth, me always repeating the same end result-- he was getting the pizza and I was making salad and getting wine. He texted me at every turn: when he left his house, when he arrived at the restaurant, when he got the pizza and when he was on his way to my house. I precisely knew when to open the door (since he had just texted me that he was at the front door). He followed me into the kitchen and said in his heavy accent, "Oh Carolyn, why did you make a salad? Oh Carolyn, now we have so much food." This was typical. I would repeat things over and over and Leonardo would always react as if it was the first time he heard it. And, "No, really?!" was his constant refrain.

The more I sat across from him and listened to him drone on and on about food, working out or his music career going nowhere, the less interested I was in sleeping with him. Could I have a purely sexual relationship with someone who I didn't connect with on an intellectual level? I know people do it all the time. But I was starting to feel like the man in this relationship and that's not a role I wanted to fill. I'm very independent, but when it comes to relationships, I like to be the woman and I want the man to be the man. Leonardo was definitely sweet, a nice person and honest-- all good traits I admired in him. But I just couldn't continue. At this point in my life, I didn't want to be in a relationship that was only all about sex. I wanted someone who could go on mental and physical journeys with me. I stopped answering Leonardo's texts. "I pulled a dude," according to one of my male friends. Leonardo promptly de-friended me on Facebook and then sent an email a week later asking why I no longer wanted to see him. It was a fair question, so I replied to him that even though we communicated very well on a physical level, we were not compatible intellectually and that I was interested in pursuing a long-term relationship.

Two months later I ran into Leonardo at Chipotle at the Grove. We chatted a bit and as I was getting into my car, Leonardo asked if I would be interested in seeing him again. "A friend with benefits?" he asked. I repeated again that I was looking for a long-term relationship. "No, really?" he asked, "I thought you didn't want a long-term relationship". "Exactly," I said, as I got into my car and drove off.

My First Boyfriend Found Me on Facebook and Wants to Come To L.A. For A Visit

2010-01-19T15:59:00.000-08:00

We dated 25 years ago. Brian was 28, divorced, Jewish and an attorney. I was 19 and I had just finished my freshman year at college. At that time, most mothers would have raised an eyebrow about the age difference between us. However, my mother, lamenting her own cash-poor, failed marriage, and who raised us saying, "you can marry the rich ones just as easily as the poor ones" heard "Jewish" and "attorney" and prayed that I would live a better life than she did. The fact that Brian was divorced didn't bother her either. "That just means he's already gotten the bad marriage out of the way," she noted.

I liked Brian and I liked having an older boyfriend. We went to dinner parties, ate at nice restaurants, read books and went to museum exhibits. He was smart, successful and quirky. And, if I remember correctly, we had been dating for about 6 months when Brian bought a condo, which I helped him scrub clean and then I never heard from him again. I asked one of Brian's friends what happened and he told me that Brian wanted to marry an attorney so he was hanging out at the local university law libraries. I was devastated. I didn't eat for 2 weeks and worked out every day. (My mother told me I looked great and whatever diet I was on, was working.) This was my first official dumping and it happened the day after I cleaned his toilet.

I wasn't surprised when I received an email from Brian a few months ago. Since the internet has made it so easy to find people, I occasionally receive emails from men from my past who are recently divorced or are going through a mid-life crisis. Brian lives in St. Louis, is divorced a second time, has two adorable kids and hasn't been on a date in more than a year. I pulled up his page on Facebook. He only had one photo posted, wearing sunglasses and a hat, but he still looked cute.

"I remember the first time I saw you," he wrote me, "looking very conservative, sitting in the afternoon sun, your legs crossed, your head tilted to one side to avoid the sun. Then, the next time I saw you was at a Mexican restaurant at 2 in the morning and you had on leopard high heels and a short black skirt." I remembered that night. My childhood friend, Diane Dazey, and I had gone to a Rod Stewart concert and stopped on the way home to get food. "So why did you stop calling?" I asked him. "I don't really remember," he said. "Maybe it was because I knew you wanted to leave St. Louis and I knew I would stay, and I really wanted to start a family". He hadn't remembered dumping me, yet he had a really romantic view of our failed relationship. "You were the gold standard for every other girl I met," he said. "You were supportive and really easy to talk to. I didn't have to explain things to you, and you had a great sense of humor. I compared every girl I ever dated to you." And he dumped me because...?

I'm glad Brian remembered me the way he did because I was an internal mess at 19. I grew up in a very sarcastic family, with a disconnected mother and an unsupportive father. "Too bad our dads didn't raise us like Gwyneth Paltrow's did," said a mutually dysfunctional friend. I was incredibly shy (anyone who knows me now doesn't believe me, but I was) and I had low self-esteem, which I hid well by keeping my mouth shut in public. Born with frizzy, red hair in humid St. Louis during the mid-60s wasn't a confidence booster either. But at 19, I was finally coming into my own. My hair was longer, my job afforded me some decent clothes and I'd finally lost my virginity. Oh, and he was right, I couldn't wait to get out of St. Louis. I had wanted to move to New York since I was 5.

How did I remember Brian? He was a germaphobe. When we went to the movies, he would place a paper towel on the seat. He would never touch anything in a public restroom, and would use the towel he dried his hands with, to open the door, and then throw the towel on the floor, not having to touch anything. He got angry with me once for getting a speck of chocolate from my Snicker's bar on the upholstery of his new Honda Accord. Each time we slept together, he took a shower right after. These were the thoughts dancing in my head as Brian

told me how he had been thinking about me for the past 25 years. Admittedly, my memories were a lot less rosy since I was the dumpee, and I hadn't thought about Brian in a long time. But 25 years later, we were laughing on the phone and realized we had many similar tastes. I talked with Brian for hours for three weeks before we settled on a date for him to come.

I was looking forward to his visit to Los Angeles. When I first saw him standing curbside at LAX, I noticed he was shorter than I remembered. He was wearing plaid Converse sneakers, True Religion jeans, a striped scarf, and a black corduroy jacket with something black embroidered on the back of it. At 53, he was quite metrosexual and trendy, even for L.A. After checking in at his hotel, we got a bite to eat and a cocktail. Later, we had more cocktails with my good friend Julie, and eventually ended up at her house with her husband and son. They loved Brian. He's successful, creative, smart and nice. If they had their wish, Brian would have proposed to me over the weekend. We went to the beach, drove to Montecito and Santa Barbara, ate out quite a bit and just talked, watched movies and hung out. Brian was very easy to get along with and actually, quite passive. 25 years had gone by, but it seemed like yesterday. Brian returned to St. Louis that Monday and we've been talking, emailing and texting ever since. After Christmas, he sent me one of his paintings, which I really like and hung above my dresser. I suspect we will see each other again. Until then...

"He's a Nice Guy, Just Not The Right Guy For Me"

2010-01-18T16:04:00.000-08:00

Apparently I say this a lot, according to Steve, the FBI agent I met online. I remember when I first saw his picture. He looked rugged and handsome-- a manly man, which I like. Something about his picture said "law enforcement" (probably the full head of short, spiky hair) and in his profile, he said he liked his life to be "simple, simple, simple". I don't like drama either, but a potential cop who wrote 'simple' three times in one short paragraph, led me to believe this guy, himself, could very well be a 'simpleton,' so I clicked on the next profile.

The next day I got an email from Steve. On this particular dating site, you can track anyone who has clicked on you, so Steve knew I had checked him out and then moved on. He sent me an email. We talked a couple of times on the phone and it took about 20 seconds to realize that Steve is very smart and pretty funny too. We decided to meet for a drink at Firefly in Studio City-- a great place to meet online dates. I arrived on time (I believe it's important to be consistent with any relationship). Steve called me from his car to let me know he was running a few minutes late. I asked him if I could order him a cocktail. "What are you drinking?" he asked. "A lemon drop and it's really good," I said. "I feel like drinking a frou-frou drink too. Yeah, order me one of those." I liked this guy. A real man isn't afraid to order a 'girl drink'.

Anyone who has dated online knows that people rarely look like their pictures. I never understood why a woman would post an old picture of her former self. You're setting yourself up for guaranteed disappointment. Guys are visual beings so their first interest in you is going to be what you look like. Don't show them a picture of a younger you and then deliver an older model. One guy I know asked a woman why she posted a 10 year-old photo. Her response was, "I thought once you got to know me, you would love me". "She was lying about who she was before I even met her, " he said. "How can I trust someone like that?" Guys do it too, but women are usually more forgiving.

So, it's rare when your date walks in and he's actually more handsome than his photo. I thought, worst-case scenario, Steve would walk in with a few extra pounds and have a receding hairline, but he came in with a big smile on his face, tan and buff. He was really handsome. After we exchanged pleasantries, I asked to see his FBI badge. I've seen enough episodes of Dateline and 20/20 to know people lie, and what better place to lie than online dating sites? Steve seemed authentic, but it's always practical to see some identification anyway. He showed me his badge and cuffs, and lifted up his shirt slightly, where I saw the gun locked in his holster. I have to admit it's, really hot to be out with a gun-carrying FBI agent, who also commands his own SWAT team. I've dated enough guys who run when faced with danger, so it was nice to be out with a real man who would actually protect me.

It was last call and neither one of us felt like going home. I lived close by but didn't think it was smart to bring a guy back to my house, who I had just met. We sat in his car and talked for another hour before we kissed. It's always interesting kissing someone for the first time. Is he a good kisser? Is he aggressive, or more passive, romantic or rough, or, my favorite, a combination of all of the above? Steve was a good kisser.

We went out a couple more times-- He came over for dinner and I drove way out to the suburbs where he lived a couple of times. Our lives were very different. He's a suburban, baseball-coaching dad on a schedule and I'm a never married, kid-less producer who works 24/7, and travels as much as I can. I'm organized, but would not describe my life as "simple" by any means. If we were meant for each other, we would have worked it out, but we weren't, so we didn't and remain friends. Steve is actually a really nice guy, just not the right guy for me.

My Goal To Finding a Meaningful Relationship

2010-01-17T18:24:00.000-08:00

I am 44 and have never married. I grew up in the midwest and, like many girls, held a magic number in my mind of the age by which I would be married and starting a family. '28' was my magic number and that was 16 years ago. I'm currently single, not in a relationship and dating in Hollywood.

Is there anything wrong with being single? No! Absolutely not. The current divorce rate in America is 50%, a fact that is constantly driven into my brain when fighting couples with screaming kids turn to me and say, "you're so lucky you're single". Then there are the times like when my 13 year old dog Jake died and I wasn't in a relationship with a man whose loving arms I could cry into. (My best friend Julie promptly filled in). In hindsight, I have been 'proposed' to twice and both men were financially stable so if I had married and divorced both times, I could probably be living a pretty comfortable life right now.

However, I have been working and supporting myself since I was 16 and the concept of money, a nice house and an expensive car has never been a bargaining chip with me. A partner with whom I can build a deep, loving and trusting friendship is what I seek, and what I have committed myself to finding (or at least to looking for) this year-- in addition to finding more clients, producing a movie and well, just living my life.

Is it possible to find the man I seek? I don't know. But, by writing about my experiences, I hope to learn more about who I am and the kind of man I am looking to share and build a life with. I also hope to strengthen my friendships, by opening my heart and mind to any experience that comes my way. What I do know is looking for someone special and sharing all of my experiences will be loads of fun!